THE  FIRST  HUNDRED  THOUSAND. 

SCALLY:THE  STORY  OF  A  PERFECT  GENTLE- 
MAN.    With  Frontispiece. 
A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS. 

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY.   Illustrated  by  Charle*  E.  Brock. 
A  SAFETY  MATCH.    With  frontispiece. 
A  MAN'S  MAN.    With  frontisoiece. 
THE  RIGHT  STUFF.    With  frontispiece. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 


"LET  ME  GIVE  YOU  ONE  HINT,  MY  LAD"    (p.  48) 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 


BY 


IAN  HAY 

c  Be /lt;  To 


• 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
C.  E.  BROCK 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

@bt  tttocrs'ibc  press  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,    1913,   BY  IAN  HAY   BEITH 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  August,  IQIJ 


TO 
T.  S.  A.  B. 


213SS20 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 

YOUTHFUL  EXCURSIONS 

I.  A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION       3 

II.  THE  FIRST  FREAK 14 

III.  lo  SATURNALIA!      . 30 

BOOK   TWO 

A  BLIND  ALLEY 

IV.  TRAVELS  WITH  A  FIRST  RESERVE 69 

V.  VERY  ODIOUS 78 

VI.  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT  —  A  DIGRESSION 88 

VII.   UNEARNED  INCREMENT 94 

VIIL    A  RELAPSE 107 

IX.   THE  ONLY  WAY  Our 126 

X.  STILL  AT  LARGE 134 

XI.  THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT  .    .    .  145 


viii  CONTENTS 

BOOK   THREE 

THE  RIGHT  ROAD 

XII.  MICE  AND  MSN 151 

XHL  LUCIDITY  ITSELF 170 

XIV.  ANOTHEB  COSY  CHAT,  WITH  AN  INTERRUPTION    .  194 

XV.  A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION       208 

XVI.  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY .  229 

XVH.  THE  WORD  "SWANK" 244 

XVm.  DE  L'AUDACE,  ET  ENCORE  DE  L'AUDACE,  ET  TOU- 

JOURS  DE  L'AUDACE 257 

XIX.  SIDELIGHTS  ON  A  PUBLIC  CHARACTER    ....  263 

XX.  REHEARSED  EFFECTS 277 

XXI.  UNREHEARSED 289 

XXH.  THE  REAL  TILLY 810 

XXIH.  THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN 821 

XXIV.  A  GARDEN  PLOT  IN  RUSSELL  SQUARE   ....  834 

XXV.  PURELY  COMMERCIAL 846 

XXVI.  THE  FINAL  FREAK  .  .  360 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"LET  ME  GIVE  YOU  ONE  HINT,  MY  LAD"  (p.  48)    Frontispiece 
"CHORUS  ONCE  MORE,  PLEASE,  GENTLEMEN!"      ....  122 

"HOW  DO  YOU  DO,  MlSS  WELLER?"  SAID  LADY  ADELA,  MYS- 
TIFIED BUT  WELL-BRED 170 

"REFLECT!"  URGED  THE  BROKER'S  MAN,  GENTLY  RESISTING 
PERCY'S  EFFORTS  TO  EJECT  HIM 258 

"THIS  IS  VERY  NAUGHTY,"  HE  ANNOUNCED  REPROACHFULLY  802 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

BOOK  ONE 
YOUTHFUL  EXCURSIONS 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

CHAPTER  I 

A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION 

THEY  —  that  is,  the  London-and-the-south- 
thereof  contingent  of  the  Hivite  House  at  Grand- 
wich  —  always  celebrated  the  first  morning  of 
the  holidays  by  breakfasting  together  at  the 
Imperial  Hotel  at  Oakleigh,  as  a  preliminary  to 
catching  the  nine-fifty-two. 

A  certain  stateliness  —  not  to  say  pomp  — 
distinguished  the  function.  Negotiations  for 
the  provision  of  the  feast  were  opened  at  an  early 
date  —  usually  about  half-term  —  the  first  step 
taking  the  form  of  a  dignified  but  ungrammatical 
communication,  cast  in  that  most  intricate  and 
treacherous  of  moulds,  the  third  person,  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  hotel,  intimating,  after  compli- 
ments, that  Mr.  Rumbold  (major},  Hivite  House, 
Grandwich  School,  would  be  much  obliged  if  our 
party  could  be  supplied  with  breakfast,  and  you 
usually  do  it  for  half-a-crown  as  there  are  a  lot  of 
us,  and  if  you  don't  we  shall  probably  go  to  the 
George,  and  as  the  party  wishes  to  catch  the  train 


4  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Mr.  Rumbold  would  be  obliged  if  you  can  give  it 
to  me  punctually. 

To  this  mine  host  would  reply  with  a  most 
gratifying  typewritten  document  addressed  to 
—  Rumbold,  Esq.,  —  a  form  of  address  which 
never  fails  to  please  so  long  as  your  parents  and 
other  adult  correspondents  persist  in  designat- 
ing you  "Master," — expressing  the  utmost 
willingness  to  provide  breakfast  for  Mr.  Rum- 
bold's  party  at  two-and-sixpence  per  head 
(which,  by  the  way,  was  the  normal  charge), 
and  concluding  with  a  tactfully-worded  request 
for  information  (inadvertently  omitted  from  Mr. 
Rumbold's  original  communication)  upon  the 
following  points :  — 

(1)  The  date  of  the  feast. 

(2)  The  number  of  young  gentlemen  likely 
to  be  present. 

(3)  The  hour  of  the  train  which  they  propose 
to  catch. 

During  the  second  half-term  Mr.  Rumbold's 
leisure  would  be  pleasantly  occupied  in  recruit- 
ing the  breakfast-party  and  communicating  its 
numbers  and  requirements,  intermittently  and 
piecemeal,  together  with  searching  enquiries  re 
kidneys  and  ultimatums  on  the  subject  of  scram- 
bled eggs,  to  the  rapidly  ageing  proprietor  of 
the  Imperial  Hotel. 


A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION  5 

On  the  joyous  morning  of  departure  a  dozen 
emancipated  Helots,  all  glorious  in  bowler  hats 
and  coloured  ties  which  atoned  at  a  bound  for 
thirteen  weeks  of  statutory  headgear  and  subfusc. 
haberdashery,  descended  upon  the  Imperial 
Hotel  and  sat  down  with  intense  but  businesslike 
cheerfulness  to  the  half-crown  breakfast.  On 
these  occasions  distinctions  of  caste  were  dis- 
regarded. Fag  and  prefect  sat  side  by  side. 
Brothers  who  had  religiously  cut  one  another 
throughout  the  term  were  reunited,  even  indulg- 
ing in  Christian  names.  Gentlemen  who  had 
fought  to  a  finish  behind  the  fives-court  every 
alternate  Wednesday  afternoon  since  term  began, 
took  sweet  counsel  together  upon  the  respective 
merits  of  Egyptian  and  Turkish  cigarettes. 

On  the  particular  occasion  with  which  we  are 
concerned  —  a  crisp  morning  in  December  — 
the  party  numbered  twelve.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  describe  them  in  detail,  for  ten  of  them  make 
their  appearance,  in  this  narrative,  at  any  rate, 
for  the  first  and  last  time.  Let  it  suffice  to  say 
that  Mr.  Rumbold  major  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  and  Mr.  Rumbold  minor  at  the  foot,  Mr. 
Rumbold  tertius  occupying  a  position  about 
halfway  down.  Among  others  present  might 
have  been  noticed  (as  the  little  society  papers 
say)  Mr.  "Balmy"  Coke,  Mr.  "Oaf"  Sandiford, 
Mr.  "Buggy"  Reid,  Mr.  "Slimy"  Green,  Mr. 


6  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Lummy"  Law,  and  Mr.  "Adenoid"  Smith. 
More  notable  figures  were  Messrs.  "Spangle" 
Jerningham  and  "Tiny"  Carmyle  —  lesser  lum- 
inaries than  Rumbold  himself,  but  shining  lights 
in  the  athletic  firmament  for  all  that. 

One  place  only  was  vacant.  The  company, 
in  accordance  with  what  is  probably  the  most 
rigorous  social  code  in  existence  —  schoolboy 
etiquette  —  had  divided  itself  into  two  groups. 
The  first,  consisting  of  those  whose  right  to  a 
place  at  the  head  of  the  table  was  unquestioned, 
settled  down  at  once  with  loud  and  confident 
anticipations  of  enjoyment.  The  remainder 
followed  their  example  with  more  diffidence, 
beginning  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  extending 
coyly  upwards,  those  whose  claim  to  a  place 
above  the  salt  was  beginning  to  be  more  than 
considerable  punctiliously  taking  the  lowest 
places  in  order  to  escape  the  dread  stigma  of 
"side."  Thus,  by  reason  of  the  forces  of  mutual 
repulsion,  a  gap  occurred  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  table,  between  a  nervous  little  boy  in  spec- 
tacles, one  Buggy  Reid,  and  the  magnificent  Mr. 
Jerningham,  Secretary  of  the  Fifteen  and  the 
best  racquets-player  in  the  school. 

"One  short!"  announced  Rumbold.  "Who 
is  it?" 

There  was  a  general  counting  of  heads.  Mr. 
Reid  timidly  offered  information. 


A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION  7 

"I  think  it  is  The  Freak,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  general  laugh. 

"Wonder  what  he's  up  to  now,"  mused  Mr. 
Jerningham.  "You  ought  to  know,  Rummy. 
Your  fag,  is  n't  he?" 

"I  gave  him  the  bag  two  terms  ago,"  replied 
the  great  man  contentedly.  "Tiny  has  him  now." 
•*  He  turned  to  another  of  the  seniors  —  a  long- 
legged  youth  with  a  subdued  manner. 

"Still  got  him,  Tiny?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carmyle  gloomily,  "I  have 
still  got  him.  It's  a  hard  life,  though." 

"I  know,"  said  Rumbold  sympathetically. 
"Does  he  cross-question  you  about  the  photo- 
graphs on  your  mantelpiece?" 

"Yes,"  said  Carmyle.  "He  spoke  very  fav- 
ourably of  my  youngest  sister.  Showed  me  a 
photograph  of  his  own,  and  asked  me  to  come  and 
stay  with  them  in  the  holidays.  Said  he  thought 
I  would  have  much  in  common  with  his  father." 

There  was  general  merriment  at  this,  for  Mr. 
Carmyle  was  patriarchal,  both  in  appearance  and 
habits.  But  it  did  nothing  to  soothe  the  nerves 
of  The  Freak  himself,  who  happened  at  the  mo- 
ment to  be  standing  shyly  upon  one  leg  outside 
the  door,  endeavouring  to  summon  up  sufficient 
courage  to  walk  in. 

He  was  a  small  sandy -haired  boy  with  shrewd 
blue  eyes  and  a  most  disarming  smile,  and  he 


8  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

belonged  to  a  not  uncommon  and  distinctly 
unlucky  class.  There  are  boys  who  are  shy  and 
who  look  shy.  Such  are  usually  left  to  them- 
selves, and  gradually  attain  to  confidence.  There 
are  boys  who  are  bumptious  and  behave  bump- 
tiously. Such  are  usually  put  through  a  brief 
disciplinary  course  by  their  friends,  and  ulti- 
mately achieve  respectability.  And  there  are 
boys  who  are  shy,  but  who,  through  sheer  self- 
consciousness  and  a  desire  to  conceal  their  shy- 
ness, behave  bumptiously.  The  way  of  such  is 
hard.  Public  School  disciplinary  methods  do  not 
discriminate  between  the  sheep  and  the  goats. 
Variations  from  the  normal,  whether  voluntary 
or  involuntary,  are  all  corrected  by  the  same 
methods.  Unconventionality  of  every  kind  is 
rebuked  by  stern  moralists  who  have  been 
through  the  mill  themselves,  and  are  convinced 
that  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  deprive  the  suc- 
ceeding generation  of  the  benefits  which  have 
produced  such  brilliant  results  in  their  own  case. 
The  Freak  —  Master  Richard  Main  waring  — 
entered  the  school- world  unfairly  handicapped. 
He  had  never  been  from  home  before.  He  was 
an  only  son,  and  had  had  few  companions  but 
his  parents.  Consequently  he  was  addicted  to 
language  and  phraseology  which,  though  meet 
and  fitting  upon  the  lips  of  elderly  gentlemen, 
sounded  ineffably  pedantic  upon  those  of  an 


A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION  9 

unkempt  fag  of  fourteen.  Finally,  he  was  shy 
and  sensitive,  yet  quite  unable  to  indicate  that 
characteristic  by  a  retiring  demeanour. 

Life  at  school,  then,  did  not  begin  too  easily 
for  him.  He  was  naturally  of  a  chirpy  and  con- 
fiding disposition,  and  the  more  nervous  he  felt 
the  more  chirpy  and  confiding  he  became.  He 
had  no  instincts,  either,  upon  the  subject  of 
caste.  Instead  of  confining  himself  to  his  own 
impossible  order  of  pariahs,  he  attempted  to 
fraternise  with  any  boy  who  interested  him. 
He  addressed  great  personages  by  their  pet 
names;  he  invited  high  potentates  to  come  and 
partake  of  refreshment  at  his  expense.  Now,  pro- 
miscuous bonhomie  in  new  boys  is  not  usually 
encouraged  in  the  great  schools  of  England, 
and  all  the  ponderous  and  relentless  machinery 
available  for  the  purpose  was  set  in  motion  to 
impress  this  truth  upon  the  over-demonstra- 
tive Freak.  Most  of  us  know  this  mighty  engine. 
Under  its  operations  many  sensitive  little  boys 
crumple  up  into  furtive  and  apathetic  nonenti- 
ties. Others  grow  into  licensed  buffoons,  batten- 
ing upon  their  own  shame,  cadging  for  cheap 
applause,  thinking  always  of  things  to  say  and 
to  do  which  will  make  fellows  laugh.  The  Freak 
did  neither.  He  remained  obstinately  and  reso- 
lutely a  Freak.  If  chidden  for  eccentricity  he 
answered  back,  sometimes  too  effectively,  and 


10  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

suffered.  But  he  never  gave  in.  At  last,  finding 
that  he  apparently  feared  no  one,  —  though 
really  this  was  far  from  being  the  case:  his  most 
audacious  flights  were  as  often  as  not  inspired  by 
sheer  nervous  excitement,  —  the  world  in  which 
he  moved  decided  to  tolerate  him,  and  finally 
ended  by  extending  towards  him  a  sort  of  amused 
respect. 

All  this  time  we  have  left  our  friend  standing 
outside  the  door.  Presently,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  he  entered,  jauntily  enough. 

"Hallo,  Freak,  where  have  you  been?"  en- 
quired Mr.  Rumbold. 

"I  felt  constrained,"  replied  The  Freak,  as 
one  old  gentleman  to  another,  "to  return  to  the 
House  upon  an  errand  of  reparation." 

A  full  half  of  the  company  present  were  blankly 
ignorant  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  "repara- 
tion," so  they  giggled  contentedly  and  decided 
that  The  Freak  was  in  good  form  this  morning. 

"What  was  the  trouble?"  asked  Jerningham. 

"As  I  was  counting  my  change  in  the  cab," 
explained  The  Freak,  "I  found  that  I  was  a 
penny  short.  (I'll  have  fried  sole,  and  then 
bacon-and-eggs,  please.  And  chocolate.)" 

"Shy lock!"  commented  the  humorous  Mr. 
Jerningham. 

The  Freak  hastened  to  explain. 

"It  was  the  only  penny  I  had,"  he  said:  "that 


A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION          11 

was  why  I  missed  it.  The  rest  was  silver.  I  saw 
what  had  happened :  I  had  given  a  penny  to  Sea- 
grave  by  mistake,  instead  of  half-a-crown." 

The  thought  of  Mr.  Seagrave,  the  stern  and 
awful  butler  of  the  Hivite  House,  incredulously 
contemplating  a  solitary  copper  in  his  palm, 
what  time  the  unconscious  Freak  drove  away 
two-and-fivepence  to  the  good,  tickled  the  com- 
pany greatly,  and  the  narrator  had  made  con- 
siderable inroads  upon  the  fried  sole  before  he 
was  called  upon  to  continue. 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  Rumbold. 

"I  drove  back  and  apologised,  and  gave  him 
two-and-fivepence,"  said  The  Freak  simply. 

"Was  he  shirty  about  it?" 

"No;  he  did  n't  seem  at  all  surprised,"  was 
the  rather  nai've  reply. 

There  was  another  laugh  at  this,  and  Jerning- 
ham  observed :  — 

"Freak,  you  are  the  limit." 

"I  may  be  the  limit,"  countered  The  Freak 
hotly,  —  ordinary  chaff  he  could  endure,  but 
Mr.  Jerningham  had  more  than  once  exceeded 
the  bounds  of  recognised  fag-baiting  that  term, 
—  "but  I  am  wearing  my  own  shirt,  Jerning- 
ham, and  not  one  of  Carmyle's!" 

There  was  a  roar  at  this  unexpected  riposte, 
for  Jerningham,  though  a  dandy  of  the  most 
ambitious  type,  was  notoriously  addicted  to 


12  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

borrowed  plumage,  and  the  cubicle  of  the  easy- 
going Carmyle  was  next  his  own. 

"You  will  be  booted  for  that  afterwards,  my 
lad,"  announced  the  discomfited  wearer  of  Mr. 
Carmyle's  shirt. 

The  Freak  surveyed  his  tormentor  thought- 
fully. After  all,  he  was  safe  from  reprisals  for 
nearly  five  weeks.  He  therefore  replied,  deliber- 
ately and  pedantically:  — 

"I  do  not  dispute  the  probability  of  the  occur- 
rence. But  that  won't  prevent  you,"  he  added, 
reverting  to  the  vernacular,  "from  feeling  jolly 
well  scored  off,  all  the  same.  And" — after  a 
brief  interval  to  allow  this  psychological  point 
full  play  —  "mind  you  send  the  shirt  back  to 
Carmyle.  I  have  enough  trouble  looking  after 
his  things  as  it  is.  Get  it  washed,  and  then  care- 
fully dis— " 

" Carefully  what ?"  enquired  Mr.  Jerningham, 
beginning  to  push  back  his  chair. 

The  Freak,  who  had  intended  to  say  "disin- 
fected," decided  not  to  endanger  his  clean  collar, 
carefully  brushed  hair,  and  other  appurtenances 
of  the  homeward-bound. 

—  "And  carefully  despatched  per  Parcels 
Post,"  he  concluded  sweetly.  "Hello,  you  fel- 
lows —  finished?  " 

"Yes:  buck  up!"  commanded  Rumbold. 

The  feast  ended  in  traditional  fashion.    No 


A  BRIEF  INTRODUCTION          13 

bill  was  ever  asked  for  or  presented  upon  these 
occasions.  Rumbold  major  merely  took  the 
sugar-basin  and,  having  emptied  it  of  its  con- 
tents, placed  therein  the  sum  of  two-and-nine- 
pence  —  half-a-crown  for  his  breakfast  and 
threepence  for  the  waiters.  The  bowl  was  then 
sent  round  the  table  in  the  manner  of  an  offer- 
tory plate,  and  the  resulting  collection  was 
handed  without  ceremony  to  the  fat  head-waiter, 
who  received  it  with  a  stately  bow  and  a  few 
well-chosen  and  long-familiar  phrases  upon  the 
subject  of  a  good  holiday  and  a  Merry  Christ- 
mas; after  which  the  members  of  the  party 
dispersed  to  the  railway  station  and  went  their 
several  ways. 

It  was  characteristic  of  The  Freak  that  he  hung 
behind  at  the  last  moment,  for  the  purpose  of 
handing  a  furtive  shilling  to  the  inarticulate 
Teuton  who  had  assisted  in  dispensing  breakfast, 
and  whose  underfed  appearance  had  roused 
beneath  the  comfortably  distended  waistcoat 
of  our  altruistic  friend  certain  suspicions,  not 
altogether  unfounded,  as  to  the  principle  upon 
which  head-waiters  share  tips  with  their  sub- 
ordinates. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   FIRST  FREAK 

MY  name  is  Carmyle.  Possibly  you  may  have 
noticed  it  in  the  previous  chapter,  among  the  list 
of  those  present  at  the  breakfast  at  the  Imperial. 
It  was  not  a  particularly  hilarious  meal  for  me, 
for  I  was  leaving  Grandwich  for  good  that  morn- 
ing; and  the  schoolboy  bids  farewell  to  this,  the 
first  chapter  of  his  life,  with  a  ceremony  —  not 
to  say  solemnity  —  sadly  at  variance  with  the 
cheerfulness  or  indifference  with  which  he  some- 
times turns  the  page  at  the  close  of  later  epochs. 

I  parted  from  the  main  body  of  Hivites  at 
Peterborough,  for  they  were  bound  for  London, 
while  I  had  to  transfer  my  person  and  effects 
to  the  care  of  the  Great  Eastern  Railway  for 
conveyance  to  my  home  in  Essex. 

At  Ely,  a  little  tired  of  the  company  and  con- 
versation of  five  East  Anglian  farmers,  who 
occupied  more  than  their  fair  share  of  room  and 
conducted  an  extremely  dull  technical  conver- 
sation with  quite  surprising  heat  and  vehemence 
over  my  head  and  across  my  waistcoat,  I  walked 
up  the  platform  in  search  of  a  little  more  cubic 
space.  At  the  very  front  of  the  train  I  found  a 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  15 

third-class  compartment  containing  only  a  single 
occupant. 

"Hallo,  Freak!"  I  said.  "I  thought  you  were 
bound  for  London." 

"Your  surmise,"  replied  my  late  fag,  "is  cor- 
rect. But  there  was  a  slight  mishap  at  Peter- 
borough." 

"You  got  left  behind?" 

"Practically,  yes.  In  point  of  fact,  I  was 
bunged  out  of  the  train  by  Spangle  Jerningham." 

"Why?" 

"He  bought  some  bananas,  and  I  warned  him 
not  to.  I  said  some  people  had  been  prosecuted 
only  last  week  for  eating  fruit  in  a  railway  car- 
riage." 

"Silly  young  idiot!"  I  replied,  falling  into  the 
trap,  even  as  Jerningham  had  done.  "Why  — " 

"But  they  were"  persisted  The  Freak.  "They 
were  caught  sucking  dates  —  off  their  tickets ! 
And  as  there  was  no  train  on  for  two  hours," 
he  concluded,  neatly  dodging  "The  Strand 
Magazine,"  "I  decided  to  come  round  this  way. 
We  get  to  Liverpool  Street  by  four.  How  far  are 
you  going?  " 

I  told  him,  and  the  train  resumed  its  journey 
through  the  fenland. 

The  next  stop  was  Cambridge,  where  The 
Freak,  suddenly  remembering  that  the  railway 
ticket  in  his  possession  was  entirely  useless  for 


16 

his  present  purpose,  got  out  to  buy  another.  I 
hung  out  of  the  carriage  window,  wondering 
which  of  the  Colleges  the  tall  yellow-brick  build- 
ing just  outside  the  station  might  be,  and  gazing 
reverentially  upon  a  group  of  three  young  men 
in  tweed  jackets  and  flannel  trousers,  who  had 
temporarily  torn  themselves  from  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge  for  the  purpose  of  bidding  farewell 
to  the  members  of  a  theatrical  touring  company. 

Presently  our  engine  and  brake-van  removed 
themselves  to  a  place  of  refreshment  down  the 
line;  whereupon  a  somnolent  horse  of  mountain- 
ous aspect,  which  had  been  meekly  standing  by, 
attached  by  a  trace  to  an  empty  third-class 
coach,  took  advantage  of  their  absence  to  tow  its 
burden  to  the  front  of  our  train  and  leave  it  there, 
like  a  foundling  on  a  doorstep,  subsequently 
departing  in  search  of  further  practical  jokes. 

With  that  instinctive  shrinking  from  publicity 
which  marks  the  professions  of  literature,  art, 
and  the  drama,  each  of  the  compartments  of  the 
third-class  coach  bore  a  label,  printed  in  three 
colours,  announcing  that  this  accommodation 
was  reserved  for  Mr.  Wilton  Spurge's  Number 
One  Company  —  I  have  always  desired  to  meet 
a  Number  Two  Company,  but  have  never  suc- 
ceeded —  in  "The  Sign  of  the  Cross,"  proceed- 
ing from  Cambridge  to  Liverpool  Street,  for 
Walthamstow. 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  17 

The  majority  of  Mr.  Wilton  Spurge's  followers 
took  their  seats  at  once;  but  three  young  ladies, 
hugging  boxes  of  chocolate,  remained  in  affection- 
ate conversation  with  the  undergraduates  upon 
the  platform.  Most  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  com- 
pany still  lingered  in  the  refreshment-room. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  gentle  tremor  throughout 
the  train,  as  the  engine  and  brakt*van  reluctantly 
backed  themselves  into  a  position  of  contact. 
A  whistle  blew,  and  a  white  flag  fluttered  far 
down  the  platform. 

"There's  no  hurry,"  observed  The  Freak,  who 
had  returned  from  the  ticket  office  and  was  now 
surveying  the  passing  show  with  his  head  thrust 
out  of  the  window  under  my  arm.  "That  white 
flag  only  means  that  the  Westinghouse  brake  is 
working  all  right." 

But  the  female  mind  takes  no  account  of 
technical  trifles,  least  of  all  upon  a  railway 
journey.  To  a  woman  flags  and  whistles  all  spell 
panic.  At  the  first  blast,  a  lady  (whom  I  took  to 
be  the  Empress  Poppeia)  hastily  shepherded 
every  one  within  reach  into  the  train,  and  then 
directed  a  piercing  summons  in  the  direction  of 
the  refreshment-room.  She  was  seconded  by  an 
irregular  but  impressive  chorus  of  admonition 
upon  the  perils  of  delay,  led  by  Mercia  in  person 
and  supported  by  a  bevy  of  Christian  Martyrs 
and  Roman  Dancing -Girls. 


18  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  whistle  sounded  again,  and  a  second  flag 
fluttered  —  a  green  one  this  time.  There  was  a 
concerted  shriek  from  the  locomotive  and  the 
ladies,  followed  by  a  commotion  at  the  door  of 
the  refreshment-room,  from  which  eftsoons  the 
Emperor  Nero,  bearing  a  bag  of  buns  and  a  copy 
of  "The  Era,"  shot  hastily  forth.  He  was  closely 
followed  by  Marcus  Superbus,  running  rapidly 
and  carrying  two  bottles  of  stout.  Three  Roman 
Patricians  with  their  mouths  full,  together  with 
a  Father  of  the  Early  Church  clinging  to  a  half- 
consumed  pork-pie,  brought  up  the  rear. 

Deeply  interested  in  the  progress  of  the  race, 
and  speculating  eagerly  as  to  whether  Pagan  or 
Christian  would  secure  the  corner-seats,  The 
Freak  and  I  failed  for  the  moment  to  note  that 
our  own  compartment  was  in  danger  of  invasion. 
But  resistance  was  vain.  At  the  very  last  mo- 
ment the  door  was  wrenched  open  by  the  guard, 
and  four  human  beings  were  projected  into  our 
company  just  as  the  train  began  to  move.  A 
handbag  and  two  paper  parcels  hurtled  through 
the  air  after  them. 

"Sorry  to  hurry  you,  Mr.  Welwyn,  sir,"  said 
the  guard,  standing  on  the  footboard  and  address- 
ing the  leader  of  the  party  through  the  window, 
"but  we  are  behind  time  as  it  is,  with  that  theat- 
rical lot." 

"My    fault    entirely,    guard,"    replied    Mr. 


THE   FIRST  FREAK  19 

Welwyn  graciously.  He  was  a  handsome  schol- 
arly man  of  about  forty.  I  put  him  down  as  a 
University  Don  of  the  best  type  —  possibly  one 
of  the  Tutors  of  a  great  college.  "We  should 
have  come  earlier.  And  —  er  "  —  here  followed 
the  indeterminate  mumble  and  sleight-of-hand 
performance  which  accompany  the  bestowal  of 
the  British  tip  —  "thank  you  for  your  trouble." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  gratified  menial, 
and  disappeared  into  space  with  half-a-crown 
in  his  palm.  Evidently  Mr.  Welwyn  was  a  man 
of  substance  as  well  as  consequence. 

"You  did  n't  ought  to  have  given  him  so 
much,  father  dear!" 

This  just  but  ungrammatical  observation 
emanated  from  the  female  head  of  the  party;  and 
despite  an  innate  disinclination  to  risk  catching 
the  eye  of  strangers  in  public,  I  turned  and  in- 
spected the  speaker.  From  her  style  of  address  it 
was  plain  that  she  was  either  wife  or  daughter 
to  Mr.  Welwyn.  Daughter  she  probably  was  not, 
for  she  must  have  been  quite  thirty;  and  there- 
fore by  a  process  of  exhaustion  I  was  led  to  the 
reluctant  conclusion  that  she  was  his  wife.  I  say 
reluctant,  for  it  seemed  incredible  that  a  suave 
polished  academic  gentleman  could  be  mated  with 
a  lady :  — 

(1)  Who  would  initiate  a  domestic  discussion 
in  the  presence  of  strangers. 


20  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

(2)  Whose  syntax  was  shaky. 

(3)  Who  wore  a  crimson  blouse,  with  vermil- 

ion feathers  in  her  hat. 

But  it  was  so.  Mr.  Welwyn  waved  a  hand 
deprecatingly. 

"One  has  one's  position  to  consider,  dear," 
he  said.  "Besides,  these  poor  fellows  are  not 
overpaid,  I  fear,  by  their  employers." 

At  this,  a  grim  contraction  flitted  for  a  moment 
over  Mrs.  Welwyn's  florid  good-tempered  fea- 
tures, and  I  saw  suitable  retorts  crowding  to  her 
lips.  But  that  admirable  and  exceptional  woman 
—  as  in  later  days  she  proved  herself  over  and 
over  again  to  be  —  said  nothing.  Instead,  she 
smiled  indulgently  upon  her  extravagant  hus- 
band, as  upon  a  child  of  the  largest  possible 
growth,  and  accepted  from  him  with  nothing 
more  than  a  comical  little  sigh  two  magazines 
which  had  cost  sixpence  each. 

I  now  had  time  to  inspect  the  other  two  mem- 
bers of  the  party.  They  were  children.  One  was 
a  little  boy  —  a  vulgar,  overdressed,  plebian, 
open-mouthed  little  boy  —  and  I  was  not  in  the 
least  surprised  a  moment  later  to  hear  his  mother 
address  him  as  "Percy."  (It  had  to  be  either 
"Percy"  or  "Douglas.")  He  was  dressed  in  a 
tight  and  rather  dusty  suit  of  velveteen,  with  a 
crumpled  lace  collar  and  a  plush  jockey-cap. 
He  looked  about  seven  years  old,  wore  curls  down 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  21 

to  his  shoulders,  and  extracted  intermittent 
nourishment  from  a  long  and  glutinous  stick  of 
licorice. 

The  other  was  a  girl  —  one  of  the  prettiest 
little  girls  I  have  ever  seen.  I  was  not  —  and 
am  not  —  an  expert  on  children's  ages,  but  I 
put  her  down  as  four  years  old.  She  was  a  plump 
and  well-proportioned  child,  with  an  abundance 
of  brown  hair,  solemn  grey  eyes,  and  a  friendly 
smile.  She  sat  curled  up  on  the  seat,  leaning 
her  head  against  her  mother's  arm,  an  oasis  of 
contentment  and  neatness  in  that  dusty  railway 
carriage;  and  I  felt  dimly  conscious  that  in  due 
time  I  should  like  to  possess  a  little  girl  of  my 
own  like  that. 

At  present  she  was  engaged  in  industriously 
staring  The  Freak  out  of  countenance. 

The  Freak,  not  at  all  embarrassed,  smiled  back 
at  her.  Miss  Welwyn  broke  into  an  unmaidenly 
chuckle,  and  her  father  put  down  "The  Morning 
Post." 

"  Why  this  hilarity,  my  daughter?  "  he  enquired. 

The  little  girl,  who  was  apparently  accustomed 
to  academically  long  words,  indicated  The  Freak 
with  a  little  nod  of  her  head. 

"I  like  that  boy,"  she  said  frankly.  "Not  the 
other.  Too  big!" 

"Baby  dearie,  don't  talk  so!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Welwyn,  highly  scandalised. 


22  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"I  apologise  for  my  daughter's  lack  of  reserve 
—  and  discrimination,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn  to  me, 
courteously.  "She  will  not  be  so  sincere  and 
unaffected  in  twenty  years'  time,  I  am  afraid. 
Are  you  gentlemen  going  home  for  the  holidays  ?  " 

I  entered  into  conversation  with  him,  in  the 
course  of  which  I  learned  that  he  was  a  member 
of  the  University,  off  on  vacation.  He  did  not 
tell  me  his  College. 

"  Do  you  get  long  holi  —  vacations,  sir,  at 
Cambridge?"  I  asked.  "When  do  you  have  to 
be  back?" 

Youth  is  not  usually  observant,  but  on  this 
occasion  even  my  untutored  faculties  informed 
me  that  Mr.  Welwyn  was  looking  suddenly  older. 

"I  am  not  going  back,"  he  said  briefly.  Then 
he  smiled,  a  little  mechanically,  and  initiated  a 
discussion  on  compound  locomotives. 

Presently  his  attention  was  caught  by  some 
occurrence  at  the  other  end  of  the  compartment. 
He  laughed. 

"My  daughter  appears  to  be  pressing  her  com- 
panionship upon  your  friend  with  a  distressing 
lack  of  modesty,"  he  said. 

I  turned.  The  Freak  had  installed  his  admirer 
in  the  corner-seat  beside  him,  and,  having  found 
paper  and  pencil,  was  engaged  in  turning  out 
masterpieces  of  art  at  her  behest.  With  a  flat 
suitcase  for  a  desk,  he  was  executing  —  so  far  as 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  23 

the  Great  Eastern  Railway  would  permit  him  — 
a  portrait  of  Miss  Welwyn  herself;  his  model, 
pleasantly  thrilled,  affectionately  clasping  one  of 
his  arms  in  both  of  hers  and  breathing  heavily 
through  her  small  nose,  which  she  held  about  six 
inches  from  the  paper. 

Finally  the  likeness  was  completed  and  pre- 
sented. 

"Now  draw  a  cow,"  said  Miss  Welwyn 
immediately. 

The  Freak  meekly  set  to  work  again. 

Then  came  the  inevitable  question. 

"What's  her  name?" 

The  artist  considered. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said  at  length.  Sylvia,  I  knew, 
was  the  name  of  his  sister. 

"Not  like  that  name!"  said  the  child,  more 
prophetically  than  she  knew. 

The  Freak  apologised  and  suggested  Mary 
Ann,  which  so  pleased  his  patroness  that  she 
immediately  lodged  an  order  for  twelve  more 
cows.  The  artist  executed  the  commission  with 
unflagging  zeal  and  care,  Miss  Welwyn  following 
every  stroke  of  the  pencil  with  critical  interest 
and  numbering  off  the  animals  as  they  were 
created. 

About  this  time  Master  Percy  Welwyn,  who 
had  fallen  into  a  fitful  slumber,  woke  up  and 
loudly  expressed  a  desire  for  a  commodity  which 


24  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

he  described  as  "kike."  His  mother  supplied 
his  needs  from  a  string-bag.  Refreshed  and 
appeased,  he  slept  anew. 

Meanwhile  the  herd  of  cows  had  been  com- 
pleted, and  The  Freak  was,  immediately  set  to 
work  to  find  names  for  each.  The  appellation 
Mary  Ann  had  established  a  fatal  precedent,  for 
The  Freak's  employer  ruthlessly  demanded  a 
double  title  for  each  of  Mary  Ann's  successors. 
Appealed  to  for  a  personal  contribution,  she 
shook  her  small  head  firmly:  to  her,  evidently,  in 
common  with  the  rest  of  her  sex,  destructive 
criticism  of  male  endeavour  was  woman's  true 
sphere  in  life.  But  when  the  despairing  Freak, 
after  submitting  Mabel-Maud,  Emily-Kate,  Eliz- 
abeth-Jane, and  Maria-Theresa,  made  a  second 
pathetic  appeal  for  assistance,  the  lady  so  far 
relented  as  to  suggest  "Seener  Angler"  —  a  form 
of  address  which,  though  neither  bovine  nor 
feminine,  seemed  to  me  to  come  naturally  enough 
from  the  daughter  of  a  Don,  but  caused  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Welwyn  to  exchange  glances. 

At  last  the  tale  was  completed, — I  think  the 
last  cow  was  christened  "Bishop's  Stortford," 
through  which  station  we  were  passing  at  the 
moment,  —  and  the  exhausted  Freak  smilingly 
laid  down  his  pencil.  But  no  one  who  has  ever 
embarked  upon  that  most  comprehensive  and 
interminable  of  enterprises,  the  entertainment 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  25 

of  a  child,  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Miss 
Welwyn  now  laid  a  pudgy  fore-finger  upon  the 
first  cow,  and  enquired :  — 

"Where  that  cow  going?" 

"Cambridge,"  answered  The  Freak  after 
consideration. 

"Next  one?" 

"London." 

"Next  one?" 

Freak  thought  again. 

"Grandwich,"  he  said. 

The  round  face  puckered. 

"Not  like  it.     Anuvver  place!" 

"You  think  of  one,"  said  The  Freak  boldly. 

The  small  despot  promptly  named  a  locality 
which  sounded  like  "Tumpiton,"  and  passed  on 
pitilessly  to  the  next  cow. 

"Where  that  One  going?"  she  enquired. 

"It  is  n't  going:  it's  coming  back,"  replied 
The  Freak,  rather  ingeniously. 

Strange  to  say,  this  answer  appeared  to  satisfy 
the  hitherto  insatiable  infant,  and  the  game  was 
abruptly  abandoned.  Picking  up  The  Freak's 
pencil,  Miss  Welwyn  projected  a  seraphic  smile 
upon  its  owner. 

"You  give  this  to  Tilly?"  she  enquired,  in  a 
voice  which  most  men  know. 

"Rather." 

"Tilly,  ducky,  don't  act  so  greedy,"  came  the 


26  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

inevitable  maternal  correction.  "Give  back  the 
young  gentleman  — " 

"It's  all  right,"  said  The  Freak  awkwardly. 
"I  don't  want  it,  really." 

"But—" 

There  came  a  shriek  from  the  engine,  and  the 
train  slowed  down. 

"Is  this  where  they  collect  tickets,  father?" 
enquired  Mrs.  Welwyn,  breaking  off  suddenly. 

Mr.  Welwyn  nodded,  and  his  wife  rather  hur- 
riedly plucked  her  daughter  from  her  seat  beside 
The  Freak  and  transferred  her  to  her  own  lap,  to 
that  damsel's  unfeigned  dolour. 

"Sit  on  mother's  knee  just  now,  dearie,"  urged 
Mrs.  Welwyn —  "just  for  a  minute  or  two!" 

Miss  Welwyn,  who  appeared  to  be  a  biddable 
infant,  settled  down  without  further  objection. 
A  moment  later  the  train  stopped  and  the  car- 
riage door  was  thrown  open. 

"Tickets,  please!" 

Mr.  Welwyn  and  I  sat  next  the  door,  and  I 
accordingly  submitted  my  ticket  for  inspection. 
It  was  approved  and  returned  to  me  by  the 
collector,  an  austere  person  with  what  Charles 
Surface  once  described  as  "a  damned  disin- 
heriting countenance." 

"Change  next  stop,"  he  remarked.  "Yours, 
sir?" 

Mr.  Welwyn  handed  him  three  tickets.    The 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  27 

collector  appeared  to  count  them.  Then  his 
gloomy  gaze  fell  upon  the  unconscious  Miss 
Welwyn,  who  from  the  safe  harbourage  of  her 
mother's  arms  was  endeavouring  to  administer 
to  him  what  is  technically  known,  I  believe,  as 
The  Glad  Eye. 

"Have  you  a  ticket  for  that  child,  madam?" 
he  enquired.  "Too  old  to  be  carried." 

Mrs.  Welwyn  looked  helplessly  at  her  husband, 
who  replied  for  her. 

"Yes,  surely.  Didn't  I  give  it  to  you,  my 
man?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  collector  dryly;  "you  did 
not." 

Mr.  Welwyn  began  to  feel  in  his  pockets. 

"That"  is  uncommonly  stupid  of  me,"  he 
said.  "I  must  have  it  somewhere.  I  thought  I 
put  them  all  in  one  pocket." 

He  pursued  his  researches  further,  and  the  col- 
lector waited  grimly.  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Welwyn. 
She  was  an  honest  woman,  and  a  fleeting  glance 
at  her  face  informed  me  that  the  search  for  this 
particular  ticket  was  to  be  of  a  purely  academic 
description. 

"I  must  trouble  you,"  began  the  man, 
"for  —  " 

"It  must  be  somewhere!"  persisted  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn, with  unruffled  cheerfulness.  "Perhaps  I 
dropped  it  on  the  floor." 


28  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Let  me  look!" 

Next  moment  The  Freak,  who  had  been  a 
silent  spectator  of  the  scene,  dropped  upon  his 
knees  and  dived  under  the  seat.  The  collector, 
obviously  sceptical,  fidgeted  impatiently  and 
stepped  back  on  to  the  platform,  as  if  to  look  for 
an  inspector.  I  saw  an  appealing  glance  pass  from 
Mrs.  Welwyn  to  her  husband.  He  smiled  back 
airily,  and  I  realised  that  probably  this  comedy 
had  been  played  once  or  twice  before. 

The  collector  reappeared. 

"The  fare,"  he  began  briskly,  "is  — " 

"Here's  the  ticket,"  announced  a  muffled  voice 
from  beneath  the  seat,  and  The  Freak,  crimson 
and  dusty,  emerged  from  the  depths  flourishing 
a  green  pasteboard  slip. 

The  collector  took  it  from  his  hand  and  exam- 
ined it  carefully. 

"All  right,"  he  snapped.  "Nowyour  own,  sir." 

The  Freak  dutifully  complied.  At  the  sight  of 
his  ticket  the  collector's  morose  countenance 
lightened  almost  to  the  point  of  geniality.  He 
was  not  to  go  empty  away  after  all. 

"  Great  Northern  ticket.  Not  available  on  this 
line,"  he  announced. 

"It's  all  right,  old  man,"  explained  my  fag 
affably.  "I  changed  from  the  Great  Northern 
at  Peterborough.  This  line  of  yours  is  so  much 
jollier,"  he  added  soothingly. 


THE  FIRST  FREAK  29 

"Six-and-fourpence,"  said  the  collector. 

The  Freak,  who  was  well  endowed  with  pocket- 
money  even  at  the  end  of  term,  complied  with 
the  utmost  cheerfulness;  asked  for  a  receipt; 
expressed  an  earnest  hope  that  the  collector's 
real  state  of  health  belied  his  appearance;  and 
resumed  his  corner-seat  with  a  friendly  nod  of 
farewell. 

Two  minutes  later  this  curious  episode  was  at 
an  end,  and  the  train  was  swinging  on  its  way 
to  London.  Mrs.  Welwyn,  looking  puzzled  and 
ashamed,  sat  silently  in  her  corner;  Mr.  Welwyn, 
who  was  not  the  man  to  question  the  workings 
of  Providence  when  Providence  worked  the  right 
way,  hummed  a  cheerful  little  tune  in  his.  The 
deplorable  child  Percy  slept.  The  Freak,  with  a 
scarlet  face,  industriously  perused  a  newspaper. 

As  for  Miss  Tilly  Welwyn,  she  sat  happily 
upon  a  suitcase  on  the  floor,  still  engaged  in 
making  unmaidenly  eyes  at  the  quixotic  young 
gentleman  who  had  just  acted,  not  for  the  last 
time  in  his  life,  as  her  banker. 


CHAPTER  III 

10  SATURNALIA! 


PRESENTLY  my  turn  came. 

A  small,  spectacled,  and  entirely  inarticulate 
gentleman  in  a  very  long  gown,  after  a  last  glance 
to  assure  himself  that  my  coat  was  sufficiently 
funereal  and  my  trousers  not  turned  up,  took  my 
hand  in  his;  and  we  advanced  mincingly,  after 
the  manner  of  partners  in  a  country  dance,  over 
the  tesselated  pavement  of  the  Senate  House 
until  we  halted  before  the  resplendent  figure  of 
the  Vice-Chancellor. 

Here  my  little  companion  delivered  himself 
of  a  hurried  and  perfunctory  harangue,  in  a  lan- 
guage which  I  took  to  be  Latin,  but  may  for  all 
I  know  have  been  Esperanto.  The  Vice-Chancel- 
lor muttered  a  response  which  I  could  not  catch; 
impelled  by  an  unseen  power,  I  knelt  before  him 
and  placed  my  two  hands  between  his :  an  indis- 
tinct benediction  fell  from  his  lips,  gently  tick- 
ling my  overheated  scalp;  and  lo!  the  deed  was 
done.  I  rose  to  my  feet  a  Master  of  Arts  of 
Cambridge  University,  at  the  trifling  outlay  of 
some  twenty  pounds  odd. 


IO  SATURNALIA!  31 

Thereafter,  by  means  of  what  the  drill-book 
calls  a  "right-incline,"  I  slunk  unobtrusively 
past  two  sardonic-looking  gentlemen  in  white 
bands,  and  escaped  through  the  open  north  door 
into  the  cool  solitude  of  Senate  House  Passage, 
and  ultimately  into  Trinity  Street. 

I  walked  straight  into  the  arms  of  my  friend 
The  Freak — The  Freak  in  cap  and  gown,  twenty- 
two  years  of  age,  and  in  his  last  year  at  the 
University. 

"  Hallo,  Tiny ! "  was  his  joyous  greeting.  "  This 
is  topping!" 

"Hallo,  Freak!"  I  replied,  shaking  hands. 
"You  got  my  wire,  then?" 

:'Yes,  what  are  you  up  for?  I  presume  it  is  a 
case  of  one  more  shot  at  the  General  Examination 
for  the  B.A.  Degree  —  what?" 

I  explained  coldly  that  I  had  been  receiving 
the  Degree  of  Master  of  Arts. 

"As  a  senior  member  of  the  University,"  I 
added  severely,  "I  believe  it  is  my  duty  to  report 
you  to  the  Proctors  for  smoking  while  in  academic 
dress." 

Freak's  repartee  was  to  offer  me  a  cigarette. 

"Let  us  take  a  walk  down  Trinity  Street," 
he  continued.  "I  have  to  go  and  see  The  Tut." 

"Who?" 

"My  Tutor.  Don't  get  fossilised  all  at  once, 
old  thing!" 


32  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

I  apologised. 

"What  are  you  going  to  see  him  about?"  I 
enquired.  "Been  sent  down?" 

"No.  I  am  going  to  get  leave  to  hold  a  dinner- 
party consisting  of  more  than  four  persons," 
replied  my  friend,  quoting  pedantically  from 
the  College  Statute  which  seeks  (vainly)  to  regu- 
late the  convivial  tendencies  of  the  undergradu- 
ate. 

"Ah,"  I  remarked  airily  —  "quite  so!  For 
my  part,  such  rules  no  longer  apply  to  me." 

Fatal  vaunt!  Next  moment  Dicky  was  fran- 
tically embracing  me  before  all  Trinity  Street. 

"Brave  heart,"  he  announced,  "this  is  provi- 
dential !  You  are  a  godsend  —  a  deus  ex  machina 
—  a  little  cherub  sent  from  aloft !  It  never  oc- 
curred to  me :  I  need  not  go  to  The  Tut  for  leave 
at  all  now!  It  would  have  been  a  forlorn  hope 
in  any  case.  But  now  all  is  well.  You  shall  come 
to  the  dinner.  In  fact,  you  shall  give  it!  Then  no 
Tut  in  the  world  can  interfere.  Come  along,  host 
and  honoured  guest!  Come  and  see  Wicky  about 
it!" 

As  The  Freak  hustled  me  down  All  Saints' 
Passage,  I  enquired  plaintively  who  Mr.  Wicky 
might  be. 

"Wickham  is  his  name,"  replied  The  Freak. 
"He  is  nominally  giving  the  dinner.  We  are 
going  to  —  " 


IO  SATURNALIA!  33 

"Pardon  me,"  I  interposed.  "  How  many  peo- 
ple are  nominally  giving  this  dinner?  So  far,  we 
have  you,  Wicky,  and  myself.  I  — " 

"  It 's  this  way,"  explained  my  friend.  "  Wicky 
is  nominally  the  host;  he  will  do  the  honours. 
But  I  have  dropped  out.  The  dinner  will  be 
ordered  in  your  name  now.  That's  all." 

"Why  is  Wicky  nominally  the  host?"  I  en- 
quired, still  befogged. 

"We  are  all  giving  the  dinner  —  seven  of  us," 
explained  The  Freak;  "all  except  yourself  and 
The  Jebber,  in  fact.  Wicky  has  to  be  host 
because  he  is  the  only  man  who  is  not  going  to 
the  dinner  disguised  as  some  one  else.  Now,  do 
you  understand?" 

"There  are  one  or  two  minor  points,"  I  re- 
marked timidly,  "which  — " 

"Go  ahead!"  sighed  my  friend. 

"Who,"  I  enquired,  "is  The  Jebber?  And  why 
should  he  share  with  me  the  privilege  of  not 
paying  for  his  dinner?" 

The  Freak  became  suddenly  serious. 

"The  Jebber,"  he  said,  "is  a  poisonous  growth 
called  Jebson.  He  is  in  his  first  year.  He  owns 
bags  of  money,  which  he  squanders  in  the  wrong 
manner  on  every  occasion.  He  runs  after  Blues 
and  other  celebrities,  but  has  never  caught 
one  yet.  On  the  other  hand,  he  is  rude  to  porters 
and  bedmakers.  He  gathers  unto  himself  bands 


34  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

of  admiring  smugs  and  tells  them  of  the  fast  life 
he  lives  in  town.  He  plays  no  games  of  any  kind, 
except  a  little  billiards  with  the  marker,  but  he 
buttonholes  you  outside  Hall  in  the  evening  and 
tells  you  how  much  he  has  won  by  backing  the 
winner  of  the  three  o'clock  race  by  wire.  I  think 
he  has  a  kind  of  vague  notion  that  he  is  sowing 
wild  oats;  but  as  he  seems  quite  incapable  of 
speaking  the  truth,  I  have  no  idea  whether  he  is 
the  vicious  young  mug  he  makes  himself  out  to  be 
or  is  merely  endeavouring  to  impress  us  yokels. 
That  is  the  sort  of  customer  The  Jebber  is." 

"And  you  have  invited  him  to  dinner?"  I 
said. 

"Yes;  it's  like  this.  We  stood  him  as  well  as  we 
could  for  quite  a  long  while.  Then,  one  evening, 
he  turned  up  in  my  rooms  when  half  a  dozen 
of  us  were  there  —  he  is  on  my  staircase,  and  I 
had  rashly  called  upon  him  his  first  term  —  and 
after  handing  out  a  few  fairy  tales  about  his  tri- 
umphs as  a  lady's  man,  he  pulled  a  photograph 
from  his  pocket  and  passed  it  round.  It  was  a 
girl  —  a  jolly  pretty  girl,  too!  He  said  he  was 
engaged  to  her.  Said  it  as  if  —  "  The  Freak's 
honest  face  grew  suddenly  hot,  and  his  fingers 
bit  ferociously  into  my  arm.  "Well,  he  began  to 
talk  about  her.  Said  she  was  'fearfully  mashed 
on  him!'  That  fairly  turned  our  stomachs  to 
begin  with,  but  there  was  more  to  come.  He 


10  SATURNALIA!  35 

confided  to  us  that  she  was  a  dear  little  thing, 
but  not  quite  up  to  his  form;  and  he  did  n't 
intend  to  marry  her  until  he  had  sown  a  few 
more  of  his  rotten  wild  oats.  And  so  on.  That 
settled  me,  Tiny !  So  far  I  had  not  been  so  fierce 
about  him  as  the  other  men.  I  had  considered 
him  just  a  harmless  bounder,  who  would  tone 
down  when  he  got  into  the  ways  of  the  place. 
But  a  fellow  who  would  talk  like  that  before 
a  roomful  of  men  about  a  girl  —  his  own  girl  — 
My  God,  Tiny!  what  would  you  do  with  such  a 
thing?" 

"Kill  it,"  I  said  simply. 

"That's  what  we  nearly  did,  on  the  spot," 
said  Dicky.  "But  —  well  —  one  feels  a  deli- 
cacy about  even  taking  notice  of  that  sort  of 
stuff.  You  understand?" 

I  nodded.  The  reserve  of  the  youthful  male  on 
affairs  of  the  heart  is  much  deeper  than  that  of  the 
female,  though  the  female  can  never  recognise 
the  fact. 

"So  we  simply  sat  still,  feeling  we  should  like 
to  be  sick.  Then  the  man  Jebson  gave  himself  a 
respite  and  us  an  idea  by  going  on  to  talk  of  his 
social  ambitions.  He  confided  to  us  that  he  had 
come  up  here  to  form  influential  friendships  — 
with  athletic  bloods,  future  statesmen,  sons  of 
peers,  and  so  forth.  He  explained  that  it  was 
merely  a  matter  of  money.  All  he  wanted  was 


36  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

a  start.  As  soon  as  the  athletes  and  peers  heard 
of  him  and  his  wealth,  they  would  be  only  too 
pleased  to  hobnob  with  him.  Suddenly  old 
Wicky,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  corner  abso- 
lutely mum,  as  usual,  asked  him  straight  off  to 
come  and  dine  with  him,  and  said  he  would  get 
a  few  of  the  most  prominent  men  in  the  'Varsity 
to  come  and  meet  him.  We  simply  gaped  at  first, 
but  presently  we  saw  there  was  some  game  on; 
and  when  The  Jebber  had  removed  himself, 
Wicky  explained  what  he  wanted  us  to  do.  He's 
a  silent  bird,  Wicky,  but  he  thinks  a  lot.  Here 
are  his  digs." 

We  had  reached  a  house  in  Jesus  Lane,  which 
we  now  entered,  ascending  to  the  first  floor. 

Dicky  rapidly  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Wickham, 
who  had  just  finished  luncheon.  He  proved  to  be 
a  young  gentleman  of  diminutive  stature  and  few 
words,  in  a  Leander  tie.  He  was,  it  appeared, 
a  coxswain  of  high  degree,  and  was  only  talkative 
when  afloat.  Then,  one  learned,  he  was  a  terror. 
It  was  credibly  reported  that  on  one  occasion  a 
freshman  rowing  bow  in  a  trial  eight,  of  a  sensi- 
tive temperament  and  privately  educated,  had 
burst  into  tears  and  tried  to  throw  away  his  oar 
after  listening  to  Mr.  Wickham's  blistering  com- 
ments upon  the  crew  in  general  and  himself  in 
particular  during  a  particularly  unsteady  half- 
minute  round  Grassy  Corner. 


IO  SATURNALIA!  37 

He  silently  furnished  us  with  cigarettes,  and 
my  somewhat  unexpected  inclusion  in  the  com- 
ing revels  was  explained  to  him. 

"Good  egg!"  he  remarked,  when  Dicky  had 
finished.  "Go  round  to  the  kitchen  presently. 
Have  dinner  in  these  rooms,  Freak.  May  be 
awkward  for  the  men  to  get  into  College  all 
togged  up." 

"You  see  the  idea  now,  Tiny?"  said  Dicky 
to  me.  "  Wicky  is  going  to  be  host,  and  the  rest 
of  us  are  going  to  dress  up  as  influential  young 
members  of  the  University.  We  shall !  pull  The 
Jebber's  leg  right  off!" 

"Do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  keep  up 
your  assumed  characters  all  dinner-time?"  I 
asked.  "You  know  what  sometimes  happens 
towards  the  end  of  — " 

"That 's  all  right,"  said  The  Freak.  "  We  are  n't 
going  to  keep  it  up  right  to  the  end.  At  a  given 
signal  we  shall  unveil." 

"What  then?"  I  enquired,  not  without  con- 
cern. 

"We  shall  hold  a  sort  of  court  martial.  After 
that  I  don't  quite  know  what  we  will  do,  but  we 
ought  to  be  able  to  think  of  something  pretty 
good  by  then,"  replied  The  Freak  confidently. 

Mr.  Wickham  summed  up  the  situation. 

"The  man  Jebson,"  he  said  briefly,  "must 
die." 


38  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"What  character  are  you  going  to  assume?" 
I  enquired  of  The  Freak.  "Athlete,  politician, 
peer,  scholar  — ?  " 

"I  am  the  Marquis  of  Puddox,"  said  my  friend, 
with  simple  dignity. 

"Only  son,"  added  Mr.  Wickham,  "of  the 
Duke  of  Damsillie.  Scotland  for  ever!" 

"A  Highlander?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  The  Freak  gleefully.  "I  am  going 
to  wear  a  red  beard  and  talk  Gaelic." 

"Who  are  to  be  the  other  —  inmates?"  I 
asked. 

"You'll  see  when  the  time  comes,"  replied 
Dicky.  "At  present  we  have  to  decide  on  a  part 
for  you,  my  lad." 

"I  think  I  had  better  be  Absent  Friends,"  I 
said.  "Then  I  need  not  come,  but  you  can  drink 
my  health." 

Mr.  Wickham  said  nothing,  but  rose  to  his 
feet  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  mantelpiece. 
On  the  corner  of  the  mirror  which  surmounted 
it  hung  a  red  Turkish  fez,  with  a  long  black 
tassel.  This  my  host  reached  down  and  handed 
to  me. 

"Wear  that,"  he  said  briefly  —  "with  your 
ordinary  evening  things." 

"What  shall  I  be  then?"  I  enquired  meekly. 

"Junior  Egyptologist  to  the  Fitzwilliam  Mu- 
seum," replied  the  fertile  Mr.  Wickham. 


IO  SATURNALIA!  39 

ii 

That  shrinking  but  helpless  puppet,  the  Junior 
Egyptologist  to  the  Fitzwilliam  Museum,  duly 
presented  himself  at  Mr.  Wickham's  at  seven- 
thirty  that  evening,  surmounted  by  the  fez. 

Here  I  was  introduced  to  the  guest  of  the  eve- 
ning, Mr.  Jebson.  He  was  a  pasty-faced,  pig-eyed 
youth  of  about  four-and-twenty,  in  an  extrava- 
gantly cut  dress  suit  with  a  velvet  collar.  He 
wore  a  diamond  ring  and  a  soft  shirt.  He  looked 
like  an  unsuccessful  compromise  between  a  bil- 
liard-marker and  a  casino  croupier  at  a  French 
watering-place.  His  right  forefinger  was  firmly 
embedded  in  the  buttonhole  of  a  shaggy  monster 
in  a  kilt,  whom,  from  the  fact  that  he  spoke  a 
language  which  I  recognised  as  that  of  Mr.  Harry 
Lauder,  I  took  to  be  the  heir  of  the  Duke  of 
Damsillie. 

The  Freak  was  certainly  playing  his  part  as 
though  he  enjoyed  it,  but  the  other  celebrities, 
who  stood  conversing  in  a  sheepish  undertone  in 
various  corners,  looked  too  like  stage  conspirators 
to  be  entirely  convincing.  However,  Mr.  Jebson 
appeared  to  harbour  no  suspicion  as  to  the  bona 
fides  of  the  company  in  which  he  found  himself, 
which  was  the  main  point. 

I  was  now  introduced  to  the  President  of  the 
Cambridge  University  Boat  Club,  a  magnificent 


40  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

personage  in  a  made-up  bow  tie  of  light-blue  satin; 
to  the  Sultan  of  Cholerabad,  a  coffee-coloured 
potentate  in  sweeping  Oriental  robes,  in  whom 
the  dignity  that  doth  hedge  a  king  was  less  con- 
spicuous than  a  thoroughly  British  giggle;  and 
to  the  Senior  Wrangler  of  the  previous  year,  who 
wore  a  turn-down  collar,  trousers  the  bagginess 
of  which  a  music-hall  comedian  would  have 
envied,  and  blue  spectacles. 

Mesmerised  by  Mr.  Wickham's  cold  eye  and 
correct  deportment,  we  greeted  one  another  with 
stately  courtesy:  but  the  President  of  the  Boat 
Club  winked  at  me  cheerfully;  the  Sultan  of 
Cholerabad,  scrutinising  my  fez,  enquired  in 
broken  English  the  exact  date  of  my  escape 
from  the  cigarette  factory;  and  the  Senior 
Wrangler  invited  my  opinion,  sotto  voce,  upon 
the  cut  of  his  trousers. 

In  a  distant  corner  of  the  room,  which  was 
very  dimly  lighted,  —  probably  for  purposes  of 
theatrical  effect,  —  I  descried  two  more  guests 
—  uncanny  figures  both.  One  was  a  youth  in 
semi-clerical  attire,  with  short  trousers  and  white 
cotton  socks,  diligently  exercising  what  is  best 
described  as  a  Private  Secretary  voice  upon  his 
companion,  a  scarlet-faced  gentleman  in  an 
exaggerated  hunting-kit  —  horn  and  all.  The 
latter  I  identified  (rightly)  as  The  Master  of  the 
University  Bloodhounds,  but  I  was  at  a  loss  to 


IO  SATURNALIA!  41 

assign  a  character  to  The  Private  Secretary. 
I  learned  during  the  evening,  from  his  own  lips, 
that  he  was  the  Assistant  Professor  of  Compara- 
tive Theology. 

The  party  was  completed  by  the  arrival  of  a 
stout  young  gentleman  with  a  strong  German 
accent  and  fluffy  hair.  He  was  presented  to  us 
as  The  Baron  Guldenschwein.  (He  actually  was 
a  Baron,  as  it  turned  out,  but  not  a  German. 
However,  he  possessed  a  strong  sense  of  humour 
—  a  more  priceless  possession  than  sixty-four 
quarterings  or  a  castle  on  the  Rhine.) 

Dinner  was  announced,  and  we  took  our  places. 
Wickham  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  Mr. 
Jebson  on  his  right  and  the  Marquis  of  Puddox 
on  his  left.  I  took  the  foot,  supported  on  either 
hand  by  the  President  of  the  Boat  Club  and  the 
Assistant  Professor  of  Comparative  Theology. 
The  other  four  disposed  themselves  in  the  inter- 
vening places,  the  Sultan  taking  his  seat  upon 
Jebson's  right,  with  the  Baron  opposite. 

The  dinner  was  served  in  the  immaculate 
fashion  customary  at  undergraduate  feasts  and 
other  functions  where  long-suffering  parents 
loom  in  the  background  with  cheque-books. 
The  table  decorations  had  obviously  been  selected 
upon  the  principle  that  what  is  most  expensive 
must  be  best,  and  each  guest  was  confronted 
with  a  much  beribboned  menu  with  his  title 


42  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

printed  upon  it.  Champagne,  at  the  covert  but 
urgent  representation  of  the  Assistant  Professor 
of  Comparative  Theology,  was  served  with  the 
hors  d'ceuvres. 

At  first  we  hardly  lived  up  to  our  costumes. 
A  practical  joke  which  begins  upon  an  empty 
stomach  does  not  usually  speed  from  the  mark. 
Fortunately  The  Freak,  who  was  not  as  other 
men  are  in  these  matters,  had  entered  upon  his 
night's  work  at  the  very  top  of  his  form,  and  he 
gave  us  all  an  invaluable  lead.  The  fish  found 
him  standing  with  one  foot  upon  the  table, 
pledging  Mr.  Jebson  in  language  which  may  have 
been  Gaelic,  but  more  nearly  resembled  the  bay- 
ing of  one  of  the  University  bloodhounds.  This 
gave  us  courage,  and  presently  the  Assistant 
Theologian  and  the  M.B.H.  abandoned  a  fur- 
tive interchange  of  Rugby  football  "shop"  and 
entered  into  a  heated  discussion  with  the  Senior 
Wrangler  upon  certain  drastic  alterations  which, 
apparently,  the  mathematical  savants  of  the  day 
contemplated  making  in  the  multiplication  table. 

I  devoted  my  attention  chiefly  to  observing 
the  masterly  fashion  in  which  The  Freak  and 
the  saturnine  Mr.  Wickham  handled  Jebson.  The 
latter  was  without  doubt  a  most  unpleasant 
creature.  The  undergraduate  tolerates  and,  too 
often,  admires  the  vicious  individual  who  is 
reputed  to  be  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  Still,  that  indi- 


IO  SATURNALIA!  43 

vidual  usually  has  some  redeeming  qualities. 
In  the  ordinary  way  of  business  he  probably  pulls 
an  oar  and  shoves  in  the  scrimmage  as  heartily 
as  his  neighbour:  his  recourses  to  riotous  living 
are  in  the  nature  of  reaction  from  these  strenuous 
pursuits.  They  arise  less  from  a  desire  to  pose 
as  a  man  of  the  world  than  from  sheer  weakness 
of  the  flesh.  He  is  not  in  the  least  proud  of  them : 
indeed,  like  the  rest  of  us,  he  is  usually  very 
repentant  afterwards.  And  above  all,  he  observes 
a  decent  reticence  about  his  follies.  He  regards 
them  as  liabilities,  not  assets;  and  therein  lies 
the  difference  between  him  and  creatures  of  the 
Jebson  type.*  Jebson  took  no  part  in  clean  open- 
air  enthusiasms :  he  had  few  moments  of  reckless 
self-abandonment:  to  him  the  serious  business 
of  life  was  the  methodical  establishment  of  a 
reputation  as  a  viveur.  He  sought  to  excite  the 
admiration  of  his  fellows  by  the  recital  of  his 
exploits  in  what  he  called  "the  world."  Such, 
naturally,  were  conspicuous  neither  for  reticence 
nor  truth.  He  was  a  pitiful  transparent  fraud, 
and  I  felt  rather  surprised,  as  I  considered  the 
elaborate  nature  of  the  present  scheme  for  his 
discomfiture,  that  the  tolerant  easy-going  crew 
who  sat  round  the  table  should  have  thought  the 
game  worth  the  candle.  I  began  to  feel  rather 
sorry  for  Jebson.  After  all,  he  was  not  the  only 
noxious  insect  in  the  University.  Then  I  remem- 


44  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

bered  the  story  of  the  girl's  photograph,  and  I 
understood.  It  was  an  ill  day  for  The  Jebber, 
I  reflected,  when  he  spoke  lightly  of  his  lady-love 
in  the  presence  of  Dicky  Mainwaring. 

The  banquet  ran  its  course.  Presently  dessert 
was  placed  upon  the  table  and  the  waiters  with- 
drew. The  Sultan  of  Cholerabad,  I  noticed,  had 
mastered  the  diffidence  which  had  characterised 
his  behaviour  during  the  earlier  stages  of  the 
proceedings,  and  was  now  joining  freely  in  the 
conversation  at  the  head  of  the  table.  I  over- 
heard Mr.  Jebson  extending  to  him  a  cordial 
invitation  to  come  up  with  him  to  town  at  the 
end  of  the  term  and  be  introduced  to  a  galaxy  of 
music-hall  stars,  jockeys,  and  bookmakers  —  an 
invitation  which  had  already  been  deferentially 
accepted  by  Mr.  Wickham  and  the  Marquis  of 
Puddox.  In  return,  the  Sultan  announced  that 
the  harem  at  Cholerabad  was  open  to  inspection 
by  select  parties  of  visitors  on  Tuesdays  and 
Thursdays,  on  presentation  of  visiting-card. 

The  spirits  of  the  party  in  general  were  now 
rising  rapidly,  and  more  than  once  the  tranquil- 
lity of  the  proceedings  was  seriously  imperilled. 
After  the  Baron  Guldenschwein  had  been  frus- 
trated in  an  attempt  to  recite  an  ode  in  praise  of 
the  Master  of  the  Bloodhounds  (on  the  somewhat 
inadequate  grounds  that  "I  myself  wear  always 
bogskin  boods"),  our  nominal  host  found  himself 


IO  SATURNALIA!  45 

compelled  to  cope  with  the  Assistant  Professor 
of  Comparative  Theology,  who,  rising  unsteadily 
to  his  legs,  proclaimed  his  intention  of  giving 
imitations  of  a  few  celebrated  actors,  beginning 
with  Sir  Henry  Irving.  The  Theologian  was  in  a 
condition  which  rendered  censure  and  argument 
equally  futile.  He  had  consumed  perhaps  hah* 
a  bottle  of  champagne  and  two  glasses  of  port, 
so  it  was  obvious  that  his  present  exalted  condi- 
tion was  due  not  so  much  to  the  depths  of  his 
potations  as  to  the  shallowness  of  his  accommo- 
dation for  the  same.  I  for  one,  having  drunk  at 
least  as  much  as  he  and  feeling  painfully  decorous, 
forbore  to  judge  him.  The  rest  of  the  company 
were  sober  enough,  but  leniently  disposed,  and 
our  theological  friend  was  allowed  his  way.  He 
threw  himself  into  a  convulsive  attitude,  mouthed 
out  an  entirely  unintelligible  limerick  about  a 
young  man  from  Patagonia,  and  sat  down 
abruptly,  well  pleased  with  his  performance. 

Then  came  an  ominous  silence.  The  time  for 
business  was  at  hand.  Mr.  Jebson,  still  impervi- 
ous to  atmospheric  influence,  selected  this  mo- 
ment for  weaving  his  own  shroud.  He  rose  to  his 
feet  and  made  a  speech.  He  addressed  us  as 
"fellow-sports";  he  referred  to  Mr.  Wickham 
as  "our  worthy  Chair,"  and  to  myself  as  "our 
young  friend  Mr.  Vice."  The  company  as  a 
whole  he  designated  "hot  stuff."  After  express- 


46  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ing,  with  evident  sincerity,  the  pleasure  with 
which  he  found  himself  in  his  present  company, 
he  revealed  to  us  the  true  purport  of  his  uprising, 
which  was  to  propose  the  toast  of  "The  Girls." 
Under  the  circumstances  a  more  unfortunate 
selection  of  subject  could  not  have  been  made. 
The  speaker  had  barely  concluded  his  opening 
sentence  when  the  Marquis  of  Puddox,  speaking 
in  his  natural  tone  of  voice,  rose  to  his  feet  and 
brought  what  promised  to  be  a  rather  nauseous 
eulogy  to  a  summary  conclusion. 

"Dry  up,"  he  rapped  out,  "and  sit  down  at 
once.  Clear  the  table,  you  fellows,  and  get  the 
tablecloth  off." 

Without  further  ado  the  distinguished  com- 
pany present,  with  the  exception  of  the  Theo- 
logian, who  had  retired  into  a  corner  by  himself 
to  rehearse  an  imitation,  obeyed  Dicky's  behest. 
The  decanters  and  glasses  were  removed  to  the 
sideboard,  and  the  cloth  was  whipped  off. 

"Take  this  loathsome  sweep,"  continued  the 
Marquis  in  the  same  dispassionate  voice,  indi- 
cating the  guest  of  the  evening,  now  as  white 
as  his  own  shirt-front,  "and  tie  him  up  with 
table-napkins." 

The  dazed  Jebson  offered  no  resistance.  Pres- 
ently he  found  himself  lying  flat  on  his  back  upon 
the  table,  his  arms  and  legs  pinioned  by  Mr. 
Wickham's  table-linen. 


IO  SATURNALIA!  47 

"Roll  him  up  in  the  tablecloth,"  was  The 
Freak's  next  order,  "and  set  him  on  a  chair." 

This  time  Jebson  found  his  tongue. 

"'Gentlemen  all,"  he  gasped  between  revolu- 
tions — the  Master  of  the  Bloodhounds  and  Baron 
Guldenschwein  were  swiftly  converting  him  into 
a  snowy  cocoon  —  "a  joke 's  all  very  well  in  its 
way  between  pals;  but  — " 

"Put  him  on  that  chair,"  continued  Dicky, 
taking  not  the  slightest  notice. 

Willing  hands  dumped  the  mummified  and 
inanimate  form  of  Jebson  into  an  armchair,  and 
the  unique  collection  of  Sports  sat  round  him  in 
a  ring. 

Then  suddenly  Dicky  laughed. 

"That's  all,  Jebson,"  he  said.  "We  are  n't 
going  to  do  anything  else  with  you.  You  are  not 
worth  it." 

Mr.  Jebson,  who  had  been  expecting  the  Death 
by  a  Thousand  Cuts  at  the  very  least,  merely 
gaped  like  a  stranded  carp.  He  was  utterly 
demoralised.  To  a  coward,  fear  of  pain  is  worse 
than  pain  itself. 

Dicky  continued :  — 

"  We  merely  want  to  inform  you  that  we  think 
you  are  not  suited  to  University  life.  The  great 
world  without  is  calling  you.  You  are  wasted 
here:  in  fact,  you  have  been  a  bit  of  a  failure. 
You  mean  well,  but  you  are  lacking  in  percep- 


48  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

tion.  There  is  too  much  Ego  in  your  Cosmos. 
Napoleon,  you  will  remember,  suffered  from  the 
same  infirmity.  For  nearly  two  terms  you  have 
deluded  yourself  into  the  belief  that  we  think  you 
a  devil  of  a  fellow.  We  have  sat  and  listened  po- 
litely to  your  reminiscences:  we  have  permitted 
you  to  refer  to  all  the  Strand  loafers  that  one  has 
ever  heard  of  by  their  pet  names.  And  all  the 
time  you  have  entirely  failed  to  realise  that  we 
see  through  you.  For  a  while  you  rather  amused 
us,  but  now  we  are  fed  up  with  you.  You  are 
getting  the  College  a  bad  name,  too.  We  are  not 
a  very  big  College,  but  we  are  a  very  old  and  very 
proud  one,  and  we  have  always  kept  our  end  up 
against  larger  and  less  particular  establishments. 
So  I'm  afraid  we  must  part  with  you.  You  are 
too  high  for  us.  That  is  all,  I  think.  Would  any 
one  else  like  to  say  anything?" 

"Are  n't  we  going  to  toy  with  him  a  little?" 
asked  the  Senior  Wrangler.  "We  might  bas- 
tinado him,  or  shave  one  side  of  his  head." 

But  Dicky  would  have  none  of  it. 

"Too  childish,"  he  said.  "We  will  just  leave 
him  as  he  is,  and  finish  our  evening.  Then  he 
can  go  home  and  pack  his  carpet-bag.  But "  — 
The  Freak  turned  suddenly  and  savagely  upon 
the  gently  perspiring  Jebson  —  "let  me  give  you 
one  hint,  my  lad.  Never  again  mention  ladies' 
names  before  a  roomful  of  men,  or,  by  _God, 


IO  SATURNALIA!  49 

you  '11  get  a  lesson  from  some  one  some  day  that 
you  will  remember  to  the  end  of  your  life !  That 
is  all.  I  have  finished.  The  Committee  for  Deal- 
ing with  Public  Nuisances  is  dissolved.  Let  us  — " 

"I  will  now,"  suddenly  remarked  a  confiden- 
tial but  slightly  vinous  voice  from  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  "have  great  pleasure  in  giving  you 
an  imitation  of  Mr.  Beerbohm  Tree." 

And  the  Assistant  Professor  of  Comparative 
Theology,  who  had  been  neglecting  the  role  of 
avenging  angel  in  order  to  prime  himself  at  the 
sideboard  for  another  excursion  into  the  realms 
of  mimetic  art,  struck  exactly  the  same  attitude 
as  before,  and  began  to  mouth  out,  with  pre- 
cisely similar  intonation  and  gesture,  the  limer- 
ick which  had  already  done  duty  in  the  case  of 
Sir  Henry  Irving. 

After  this  the  proceedings  degenerated  rapidly 
into  a  "rag"  of  the  most  ordinary  and  healthy 
type.  The  company,  having  dined,  had  ceased 
to  feel  vindictive,  and  The  Freak's  admirably 
appropriate  handling  of  the  situation  met  with 
their  entire  appreciation.  With  relief  they  pro- 
ceeded from  labour  to  recreation.  Mr.  Jebson 
was  unceremoniously  bundled  into  a  corner; 
some  one  opened  Mr.  Wickham's  piano,  and  in 
two  minutes  an  impromptu  dance  was  in  full 
swing.  I  first  found  myself  involved  in  an  ex- 
travagant perversion  of  the  Lancers,  danced  by 


50  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

the  entire  strength  of  the  company  with  the 
exception  of  Baron  Guldenschwein,  who  pre- 
sided at  the  piano.  After  this  the  Theologian, 
amid  prolonged  cries  of  dissent,  gave  another 
imitation  —  I  think  it  was  of  Sarah  Bernhardt  — 
which  was  terminated  by  a  happy  suggestion  of 
Dicky's  that  the  entertainer  should  be  "forcibly 
fed "  —  an  overripe  banana  being  employed  as 
the  medium  of  nourishment.  Then  the  Baron 
struck  up  "The  Eton  Boating  Song."  Next 
moment  I  found  myself  (under  strict  injunctions 
to  remember  that  I  was  "lady")  waltzing  madly 
round  in  the  embrace  of  the  Senior  Wrangler, 
dimly  wondering  whether  the  role  of  battering- 
ram  which  I  found  thrust  upon  me  during  the 
next  ten  minutes  was  an  inevitable  one  for  all 
female  partners,  and  if  so,  why  girls  ever  went 
to  balls. 

Presently  my  partner  suggested  a  rest,  and 
having  propped  me  with  exaggerated  gallantry 
against  the  window-ledge,  took  off  his  dickey  and 
fanned  me  with  it. 

After  that  we  played  "  Nuts  in  May." 
The  fun  grew  more  uproarious.  Each  man  was 
enjoying  himself  with  that  priceless  abandon 
which  only  youth  can  confer,  little  recking 
that  with  the  passing  of  a  very  few  years  he 
would  look  back  from  the  world- weary  heights  of, 
say,  twenty-five,  upon  such  a  memory  as  this 


10  SATURNALIA!  51 

with  pained  and  incredulous  amazement.  Later 
still,  say  at  forty,  he  would  look  back  again,  and 
the  retrospect  would  warm  his  heart.  For  the 
present,  however,  our  warmth  was  of  a  purely 
material  nature,  and  the  only  Master  of  Arts 
present  mopped  his  streaming  brow  and  felt  glad 
that  he  was  alive.  To  a  man  who  has  worked 
without  a  holiday  for  three  years  either  in  a 
drawing-office  or  an  engineering-shop  in  South 
London,  an  undergraduate  riot  of  the  most  prim- 
itive description  is  not  without  its  points. 

"The  Eton  Boating  Song"  is  an  infectious 
measure:  in  a  short  time  we  were  all  singing  as 
well  as  dancing.  The  floor  trembled :  the  chande- 
lier rattled:  the  windows  shook:  Jesus  Lane 
quaked. 

"Swing,  swing,  together," 
we  roared, 

"With  your  bodies  between  your  — " 

Crash! 

The  flowing  tartan  plaid  which'  adorned  the 
shoulders  of  the  scion  of  the  house  of  Damsillie 
had  spread  itself  abroad,  and,  encircling  in  a 
clinging  embrace  the  trussed  and  pinioned  form 
of  the  much-enduring  Jebson,  had  whipped  him 
from  his  stool  of  penance  and  caused  him,  from  no 
volition  of  his  own,  to  join  the  glad  throng  of 
waltzers,  much  as  a  derelict  tree-trunk  joins  a 


52  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

whirlpool.  In  a  trice  the  Assistant  Professor  of 
Comparative  Theology  and  the  President  of  the 
University  Boat  Club,  who  were  performing  an 
intricate  reversing  movement  at  the  moment, 
tripped  heavily  backwards  over  his  prostrate 
form,  while  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of 
Puddox  (and  lady),  brought  up  in  full  career  by 
the  stoutly  resisting  plaid,  fell  side  by  side  upon 
the  field.  The  Senior  Wrangler  and  the  Junior 
Egyptologist,  whirling  like  dervishes,  topped  the 
heap  a  moment  later.  The  Baron  Guldenschwein 
and  the  Master  of  the  Bloodhounds  leavened 
the  whole  lump. 

My  head  struck  the  floor  with  a  dull  thud. 
Simultaneously  some  one  (I  think  it  was  the 
Senior  Wrangler)  put  his  foot  into  my  left  ear. 
Even  at  this  excruciating  moment  I  remember 
reflecting  that  it  would  be  a  difficult  matter, 
after  this,  to  maintain  a  distant  or  stand-offish 
attitude  towards  the  gentleman  who  at  this 
moment  was  acting  as  the  foundation-stone  of 
our  pyramid. 

The  music  ceased,  with  a  suddenness  that 
suggested  musical  chairs,  and  I  was  aware  of  an 
ominous  silence.  Disengaging  my  neck  from  the 
embrace  of  a  leg  clad  in  a  baggy  silk  trousering, 
—  evidently  it  belonged  to  the  Sultan:  how  he 
got  into  that  galley  I  have  no  conception,  for 
he  had  recently  relieved  the  Baron  at  the  piano, 


10  SATURNALIA!  53 

—  I  struggled  to  my  hands  and  knees  and  crawled 
out  of  the  turmoil  upon  the  floor. 

Set  amid  the  constellation  of  stars  which  still 
danced  round  my  ringing  head,  I  beheld  a  sleek 
but  burly  gentleman  in  sober  black,  silk  hat  in 
hand,  standing  in  the  doorway.  He  was  a  Univer- 
sity bull-dog.  We  were  in  the  clutches  of  the  Law. 

"Proctor's  compliments,  gentlemen,  and  will 
the  gentleman  what  these  rooms  belong  to  kindly 
step  —  " 

It  was  a  familiar  formula.  Wickham,  who  had 
struggled  to  his  feet,  answered  at  once :  — 
-    "All  right;  I '11  come  down.  Wait  till  I  put  my 
collar  on.   Is  the  Proctor  downstairs?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Mr.  Sandeman,  sir." 

"Sandy?  Golly!"  commented  Mr.  Wickham, 
swiftly  correcting  the  disorder  of  his  array. 
Several  people  whistled  lugubriously.  Wickham 
turned  to  Dicky. 

"I'll  go  down,"  he  said.  "You  sort  out  those 
chaps  on  the  floor." 

He  disappeared  with  the  bull-dog,  leaving 
Dicky  and  myself  to  disintegrate  the  happy  heap 
of  arms  and  legs  upon  the  carpet.  Ultimately 
we  uncovered  our  foundation-stone,  black  in  the 
face,  but  resigned.  We  unrolled  his  winding- 
sheet,  cut  his  bonds,  and  were  administering 


54  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

first  aid  of  a  hearty  but  unscientific  description 
when  there  was  a  cry  from  Dicky  — 

"Ducker,  you  young  fool,  where  are  you 
going  to?" 

Ducker,  it  appeared,  was  the  real  name  of  the 
Assistant  Theologian.  (As  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
was  Duckworth.)  He  was  already  at  the  door. 
Finding  his  exit  detected,  he  drew  himself  up 
with  an  air  of  rather  precarious  dignity,  and  re- 
plied :  — 

"I  am  going  to  speak  to  Sandy." 

"What  for?" 

"Sandy,"  explained  Mr.  Ducker  rapidly,  "has 
never  seen  my  imitation  of  George  Alexander  as 
the  Prisoner  of  Zenda.  He  has  got  to  have  it 
now!" 

Next  moment  the  persevering  pantomimist  had 
disappeared,  and  we  heard  him  descending  the 
stairs  in  a  series  of  kangaroo-like  leaps. 

"Come  on,  Bill,"  said  Dicky  to  me.  "We 
must  follow  him  quick,  or  there  will  be  trouble." 

We  raced  downstairs  into  the  entrance-hall. 
The  open  doorway  framed  the  dishevelled  figure 
of  Mr.  Duckworth.  He  was  calling  aloud  the 
name  of  one  Sandy,  beseeching  him  to  behold 
George  Alexander.  Outside  in  the  gloom  of  Jesus 
Lane  we  beheld  Mr.  Wickham  arguing  respect- 
fully with  a  majestic  figure  in  a  black  gown,  white 
bands,  and  baleful  spectacles.  With  a  sinking 


IO  SATURNALIA!  55 

heart  I  recognised  one  of  the  two  saturnine  cleri- 
cal gentlemen  in  whose  presence  I  had  been 
presented  for  my  M.A.  degree  only  a  few  hours 
before. 

"Sandy,  old  son,"  bellowed  Mr.  Duckworth 
perseveringly,  "be  a  sportsman  and  look  at  me  a 
minute!"  He  was  now  out  upon  the  doorstep, 
posturing.  "Flavia!  Fla-a-a-via ! "  he  yowled. 

"It's  no  good  our  pulling  him  back  into  the 
house,"  said  Dicky,  "or  Sandy  will  have  him  for 
certain.  Let 's  rush  him  down  the  street,  and  hide 
somewhere." 

Next  moment,  with  a  hand  upon  each  of  the 
histrionic  Theologian's  shoulders,  we  were  flying 
down  Jesus  Lane.  Behind  us  thundered  the  feet 
of  one  of  the  minions  of  the  Reverend  Hugo 
Sandeman.  (The  other  had  apparently  been 
retained  to  guard  the  door.)  Mr.  Duckworth, 
suddenly  awake  to  the  reality  of  the  situation 
and  enjoying  himself  hugely,  required  no  pro- 
pulsion. In  fact,  he  was  soon  towing  us  —  so 
fast  that  Dicky,  encumbered  by  his  chieftain's 
costume,  and  I,  who  had  not  sprinted  for  three 
years,  had  much  ado  to  hold  on  to  him.  The 
bull-dog,  who  was  corpulent  and  more  than 
middle-aged,  presently  fell  behind. 

It  was  raining  slightly  and  there  were  not  many 
people  about,  for  it  was  close  on  ten  o'clock.  We 
emerged  at  the  double  from  Jesus  Lane  into 


56  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Sidney  Street,  and  dashed  down  the  first  avail- 
able opening.  It  brought  us  into  a  narrow  alley 
—  one  of  the  innumerable  "passages"  with 
which  Cambridge  is  honeycombed.  Here  we 
halted  and  listened  intently. 

in 

Having  now  leisure  to  review  the  incredible 
sequence  of  events  which  had  resulted  in  my 
being  hounded  through  the  streets  of  Cambridge 
by  the  University  authorities,  —  when  by  Uni- 
versity law  I  should  have  been  one  of  the 
hounds,  —  in  company  with  two  undergraduates, 
one  attired  as  a  sort  of  burlesque  Rob  Roy  and 
the  other  in  a  state  of  more  than  doubtful 
sobriety,  I  embarked  upon  a  series  of  gloomy  but 
useless  reflections  upon  my  imbecility.  My  only 
consolation  was  derived  from  the  knowledge  that 
I  no  longer  wore  the  insignia  of  the  Junior  Egypt- 
ologist, having  mislaid  that  accursed  ornament 
in  the  course  of  the  evening's  revels. 

My  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  voice 
of  The  Freak. 

"What  shall  we  do  next?"  he  enquired,  with 
great  gusto. 

"Go  home,"  said  I,  without  hesitation. 

"How?" 

"Straight  on:  this  passage  must  lead  some- 
where." 


IO  SATURNALIA!  57 

"  Does  it  ?  Have  you  ever  been  down  it  before  ?  " 

"I  can't  remember;  but  — " 

"Well,  I  have,  and  it  does  n't  lead  anywhere, 
young  feller-my-lad.  That's  why  that  blamed 
bull-dog  of  Sandy's  has  n't  followed  us  up  harder. 
He  knows  he  has  got  us  on  toast.  I  expect  they  're 
all  waiting  for  us  at  the  mouth  of  this  rat-hole 
now." 

Certainly  we  were  in  a  tight  corner.  But  even 
now  The  Freak's  amazing  resource  did  not  fail 
him.  We  were  standing  at  the  moment  outside 
a  building  of  rather  forbidding  aspect,  which  had 
the  appearance  of  a  parish  institute.  The  win- 
dows of  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  ground-floor 
were  brightly  lighted,  and  even  as  we  looked  a 
large  podgy  young  man,  of  the  Sunday-School 
superintendent  type,  appeared  on  the  front 
steps.  We  feigned  absorption  in  a  large  printed 
notice  which  stood  outside  the  door. 

The  podgy  man  addressed  us. 

"Are  you  coming  in,  gentlemen?  You'll  find 
it  worth  your  while.  The  professor  is  only  just 
'ere,  'avin'  missed  'is  train  from  King's  Cross;  so 
we  are  goin'  to  begin  at  once."  He  spoke  in  the 
honeyed  —  not  to  say  oily  —  accents  of  a  cer- 
tain type  of  "townee"  who  sees  a  chance  of  mak- 
ing something  out  of  a  'Varsity  man,  and  his 
conversation  was  naturally  addressed  to  me.  My 
two  companions  kept  modestly  in  the  shadows. 


58  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"First  lecture  free  to  all,"  continued  the  podgy 
young  man,  smiling  invitingly.  "Members  of 
the  University  specially  welcomed." 

At  this  moment  The  Freak  emerged  into  the 
full  glare  of  the  electric  light,  and  nudged  me 
meaningly  in  the  ribs. 

"I  have  two  friends  with  me,"  I  said —  "one 
from  Scotland  —  er  —  the  North  of  Scotland. 
I  am  taking  them  for  an  after-dinner  stroll,  to 
view  the  Colleges,  and — er  —  so  on." 

"All  are  welcome,"  repeated  the  young  man 
faintly,  gazing  in  a  dazed  fashion  at  the  Marquis 
of  Puddox.  "Step  inside." 

What  we  were  in  for  we  did  not  know.  But 
it  was  a  case  of  any  port  in  a  storm,  and  we  all 
three  allowed  ourselves  to  be  shepherded  into  a 
room  containing  some  fifteen  people,  who,  to 
judge  by  the  state  of  the  atmosphere,  had  been 
there  some  time.  Our  entrance  caused  an  obvious 
flutter,  and  distracted  the  attention  of  the  room 
from  a  diminutive  foreigner  in  a  frayed  frock- 
coat,  with  a  little  pointed  beard  and  pathetic 
brown  eyes,  who  was  sitting  nervously  on  the 
edge  of  a  chair,  endeavouring  to  look  collected 
under  the  blighting  influence  of  a  good  honest 
British  stare.  The  three  newcomers  at  once 
retired  to  the  only  unoccupied  corner  of  the  room, 
where  it  was  observed  that  the  clerical  member 
of  the  party  immediately  adopted  a  somewhat 


IO  SATURNALIA!  59 

unconventional  attitude  and  composed  himself 
to  slumber. 

At  this  point  the  podgy  young  man,  who 
appeared  to  be  the  secretary  of  the  club,  —  some 
society  for  mutual  improvement,  —  rose  to  his 
feet  and  announced  that  he  had  great  pleasure 
in  introducing  "the  professor"  to  the  company. 
Apparently  we  were  to  have  a  French  lesson. 
We  had  arrived  just  in  time  for  the  opening  cere- 
mony, which  we  might  enjoy  free  gratis  and  for 
nothing;  but  if  we  desired  to  come  again  —  a 
highly  improbable  contingency,  I  thought  —  we 
were  at  liberty  to  do  so  every  Thursday  even- 
ing throughout  the  quarter,  at  a  fee  of  one 
guinea. 

"I  think,  gentlemen,"  concluded  the  secretary, 
"that  you  will  find  your  money  'as  been  well  laid 
out.  We  'ave  very  'igh  reports  of  the  professor's 
abilities,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  the  fame  of  'is 
teaching  'as  been  sufficient  to  attract  a  member 
of  the  University  here  to-night." 

At  this  he  bowed  deferentially  in  our  direction, 
and  there  was  some  faint  applause.  To  my  hor- 
ror Dicky  promptly  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  return- 
ing the  podgy  young  man's  bow,  delivered  him- 
self in  a  resonant  Gaelic  whinny  of  the  following 
outrageous  flight  of  fancy:  — 

"Hech-na  hoch-na  hoy  ah  hoo!" 

As  delivered,  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  it 


60  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

sounded  like  a  perfectly  genuine  expression  of 
Celtic  fervour.  Dicky  sat  down,  amid  an  inter- 
ested murmur,  and  whispered  hurriedly  to  me:  — 

"Interpret,  old  soul!" 

I  rose  miserably  to  my  feet. 

"My  friend,"  I  announced,  wondering  dimly 
how  long  it  would  be  before  the  podgy  young 
man  and  his  satellites  uprose  and  cast  us  forth, 
"has  replied  to  your  very  kind  welcome  by  a 
quotation  from  one  of  his  national  poets,  —  er, 
Ossian,  —  which,  roughly  translated,  means  that, 
however  uncouth  his  exterior  may  be,  he  never 
forgets  a  kindness!" 

Which  was  rather  good,  I  think. 

There  was  more  applause,  which  had  the  dis- 
astrous effect  of  rousing  Mr.  Duckworth  from 
his  slumbers.  Finding  that  every  one  present  was 
clapping  his  hands  and  looking  in  his  direction, 
he  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"Mr.  Chairman,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he 
began  cheerfully,  "in  response  to  your  most 
flattering  encore  I  shall  have  great  pleasure,  with 
your  attention  and  permission,  in  givin'  you  my 
celebrated  imitation"  —  here  he  began  to  stiffen 
into  the  old  familiar  epileptic  attitude  —  "of  Sir 
George  Irving  — " 

We  drew  him  down,  as  gently  as  possible,  into 
his  seat,  and  the  secretary,  slightly  disconcerted, 
called  upon  the  lecturer  to  begin. 


IO  SATURNALIA!  61 

The  professor  rose,  and  having  bowed  gallantly 
to  the  secretary's  wife,  the  only  lady  present,  — 
a  courtesy  which  was  acknowledged  by  that 
young  woman,  with  true  British  politeness,  by 
a  convulsive  giggle,  —  proceeded,  in  language 
which  betrayed  the  fact  that  although  he  might 
be  able  to  teach  French  he  could  not  pronounce 
English,  to  explain  his  modus  operandi.  He  pro- 
posed, we  discovered,  to  describe  in  his  own 
tongue  some  familiar  scene  of  everyday  life, 
suiting  his  action  to  the  word,  and  laying  his 
hand,  whenever  possible,  upon  the  objects  men- 
tioned in  his  discourse,  in  order  to'  assist  us  in 
grasping  his  meaning. 

"Par  example"  he  explained,  "if  I  touch  ze 
'at  of  madam,  so"  — here  he  darted  across  the 
room  and  laid  a  playful  finger  on  the  brim  of  Mrs. 
Secretary's  rather  flamboyant  headgear,  a  famil- 
iarity which  that  paragon  of  British  propriety 
greeted  with  an  hysterical  "Ow,  George!"  — 
"and  say  chapeau,  den  you  vill  onnerstand  vat 
I  mean." 

"I  doubt  it,  old  son,"  observed  Mr.  Duck- 
worth gravely. 

"To-night,"  continued  the  professor,  who  had 
fortunately  been  unable  to  understand  this  innu- 
endo, "I  vill  describe  a  simple  scene  zat  you  all 
know  —  n'est-ce  pas?" 

Here  he  struck  an  attitude,  as  if  to  imply  that 


62  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

they  must  be  careful  not  to  miss  this  bit,  and 
declaimed :  — 

"  Ze  postman,  *ow  *e  brings  ze  letters.19 

This  announcement  was  greeted  with  a  stony 
silence. 

"I  tell  you  ze  title,'*  he  added  in  warning 
tones,  "but  after  now  I  spik  no  more  Engleesh." 

"Quite  right;  I  would  n't  if  I  were  you,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Duckworth  approvingly. 

The  professor  bowed  politely  at  this  com- 
mendation from  such  an  exalted  quarter,  and 
plunged  into  his  subject. 

"Lefacteur,  comment  il  apporte  les  lettres!  " 

The  audience,  composed  exclusively  of  podgy 
young  men  like  the  secretary,  received  this  exor- 
dium with  different  degrees  of  self -consciousness, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Englishman  when  a  for- 
eign language  is  spoken  in  his  presence.  Some 
looked  extremely  knowing,  while  others  stirred 
uneasily  in  their  seats,  and  regarded  each  other 
with  shamefaced  grins. 

The  professor  meanwhile  had  advanced  to  the 
window,  and  was  gazing  excitedly  out  into  the 
darkness. 

"Regardez  lefacteur  qui  s'approche ! "  he  cried, 
pointing  with  his  finger  in  the  direction  where  I 
calculated  that  the  Reverend  Hugo  and  his 
attendant  fiends  were  probably  still  waiting  for 
us;  "dans  la  rue,  la-basl  II m' apporte  peut-etre  une 


IO  SATURNALIA!  63 

lettre !  Mais  de  qui  ?  Ah,  de  -  '  Here  he  clutched 
his  heart  convulsively,  evidently  bent  upon  a 
touch  of  humorous  sentiment:  but  a  glance  at 
the  adamantine  countenances  of  his  audience 
caused  him  to  change  his  mind,  and  he  continued, 
rather  lamely:  — 

"Je  descendrai  au  rez-de-chaussee.  Je  m'ap- 
proche  a  la  porte  —  pardon,  m'sieur!" 

The  last  remark  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Duck- 
worth, the  professor  having  stumbled  over  his 
legs  on  his  way  to  the  door.  The  Theologian 
responded  politely  with  an  imitation  of  a  man 
drawing  a  cork,  and  the  demonstration  pro- 
ceeded. 

"  Je  saisis  le  bouton"  continued  our  instructor, 
convulsively  clutching  the  door-handle.  "Je 
tour-r-r-rne  le  bouton!  J'ouvre  la  porte!  Je 
m'eloigne  dans  le  corridor  —  Oh,  pardon,  m'sieur! 
Je  vous  — " 

He  had  torn  open  the  door  with  a  flourish  and 
hurled  himself  into  the  passage  in  faithful  pur- 
suance of  his  system,  only  to  collide  heavily  and 
audibly  with  some  unyielding  body  outside. 

"Proctor's  compliments,  sir,"  said  a  deep 
voice,  "but  if  you  are  in  charge  'ere,  will  you 
kindly  come  and  speak  to  'im  a  minute?" 

The  Frenchman's  answering  flood  of  incom- 
prehensible explanation  was  cut  short  by  the 
secretary,  who  rose  from  his  seat  and  hurried  out. 


64  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

A  few  questions  and  answers  passed  between  him 
and  the  bull-dog,  and  then  we  heard  their  foot- 
steps dying  away  in  the  direction  of  the  front 
door,  where  the  Reverend  Hugo  was  doubtless 
waiting. 

Next  moment  the  company  in  the  room  were 
surprised,  and  I  firmly  believe  disappointed, 
when  the  three  last-joined  recruits,  after  a  hur- 
ried glance  round  the  walls  as  if  for  a  humbler 
means  of  exit,  rose  and  unostentatiously  quitted 
the  apartment  by  the  door. 


Once  in  the  passage,  we  turned  hastily  and 
blindly  to  the  left,  leaving  behind  us  the  front 
door,  which  was  blocked  by  an  animated  group 
composed  of  the  secretary,  the  professor,  — 
what  he  was  doing  there  I  do  not  know:  perhaps 
he  thought  that  three  more  pupils  were  applying 
for  admission,  —  and  the  larger  of  the  Reverend 
Hugo's  two  bull-dogs,  while  that  avenging  angel's 
voice  could  be  heard  uplifted  in  a  stately  ha- 
rangue outside. 

We  scuttled  up  the  passage  and  dived  through 
the  first  door  that  presented  itself,  closing  and 
locking  it  behind  us.  On  turning  up  the  electric 
light  we  found  ourselves  in  a  large  deserted 
room,  occupied  by  two  bagatelle  tables.  It  was 
unfortunately  lighted  from  the  roof,  which  put 


IO  SATURNALIA!  65 

escape  by  the  window  out  of  the  question.  How- 
ever, at  the  far  end  we  spied  another  door. 
Through  this  we  rushed,  into  what  appeared  to 
be  a  recreation-room,  occupied  solely  by  two 
spectacled  gentlemen  immersed  in  a  game  of 
chess.  Their  surprise  when  three  total  strangers, 
two  in  unusual  dress  and  all  in  an  obvious  hurry, 
invaded  the  privacy  of  their  apartment,  only  to 
make  a  hasty  and  undignified  exit  by  the  win- 
dow, must  have  been  considerable,  but  we  did 
not  stay  to  observe  it. 

IV 

Three  weeks  later  The  Freak  came  up  to  town 
for  his  Easter  vacation,  and  dined  with  me  at  my 
club,  and  I  heard  the  end  of  the  tale. 

Nothing  very  dreadful  had  happened,  it 
appeared.  Mr.  Wickham,  having  laconically 
accepted  full  responsibility  for  the  riot  in  his 
rooms,  had  been  gated  at  eight  for  the  rest  of  the 
term.  The  fact  that  I  had  ordered  the  dinner 
was  unknown  to  the  Proctors,  and  the  College 
cook  had  not  enlightened  them.  The  identity  of 
the  Marquis  of  Puddox,  the  Junior  Egyptologist, 
and  the  Assistant  Professor  of  Comparative 
Theology  had  never  been  discovered. 

"So  your  guilty  secret,  old  thing,"  concluded 
Dicky,  "is  safe.  And  now  I  want  to  invite  you 
to  another  function." 


66  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Thank  you,"  I  said  gruffly,  "but  I  think  not. 
What  sort  of  function  is  it  this  time?" 

"A  wedding,"  replied  Dicky  unexpectedly. 

"Great  Scott!     Yours?" 

"  No  —  The  Jebber's !  He  has  grown  quite  a 
white  man.  The  little  homily  which  I  took  the 
liberty  of  delivering  to  him  that  evening,  coupled 
with  the  very  light  sentence  imposed,  quite  won 
his  heart,  it  appears.  He  never  leaves  me  now. 
Eats  out  of  my  hand.  He  is  going  down  at  the 
end  of  the  May  term  like  a  sensible  Jebber,  and 
he  is  to  be  married  to  his  girl  in  June." 

"The  girl  of  the  photograph?" 

"  Yes.  He  has  quite  got  over  his  wild-oats  the* 
ories,  and  his  girl  now  has  him  completely  in 
hand.  I  have  seen  them  together,  and  I  know. 
They  are  very  happy." 

My  romantic  friend  sighed  comfortably,  and 
concluded :  — 

"I  have  promised  to  be  best  man." 

"You?" 

"Yes;  he  asked  me,  and  one  can't  decline. 
You  are  coming  with  me,  fellow-sport,  to  repre- 
sent the  Senior  Members  of  the  University!" 

I  went.  No  one  ever  refuses  anything  to  The 
Freak. 


BOOK  TWO 
A  BLIND  ALLEY 


CHAPTER  IV 

TRAVELS   WITH  A   FIRST   RESERVE 

I  ARRIVED  at  Shotley  Beauchamp  (for  Widger- 
ley  and  the  Sludyard  Valley  Branch)  with  my 
heart  gradually  settling  into  my  boots. 

Most  of  us  —  men,  not  women :  a  woman,  I 
fancy,  provided  she  knows  that  her  hat  is  on 
straight,  is  prepared  to  look  the  whole  world  in 
the  face  at  any  moment  —  are  familiar  with  the 
sinking  sensation  which  accompanies  us  to  the 
door  of  a  house  to  which  we  have  been  bidden 
as  a  guest  for  the  first  time.  We  foresee  ahead 
of  us  a  long  vista  of  explanations,  and  for  the 
moment  we  hate  explanations  more  than  any- 
thing on  earth. 

First,  we  shall  have  to  explain  ourselves  to  the 
butler.  Then,  pending  the  tardy  appearance 
of  our  host  and  hostess,  we  shall  have  to  explain 
ourselves  to  uninterested  fellow-guests.  At  tea, 
knowing  no  one,  we  shall  stand  miserably  aloof, 
endeavouring  faute  de  mieux  to  explain  our  pres- 
ence to  ourself ,  and  wondering  whether  it  would 
be  decent  to  leave  before  breakfast  next  morning. 
After  dressing  for  dinner  we  shall  come  down  too 
early,  and  have  to  explain  ourselves  to  an  embar^ 
rassed  governess  and  a  critical  little  girl  of  twelve. 


70  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

There  for  the  present  our  imagination  boggles. 
Pondering  these  things,  we  enquire  bitterly  why 
we  ever  left  the  club,  where,  though  life  may  be 
colourless,  no  questions  are  asked. 

It  is  true  that  these  illusions  dispel  themselves 
with  the  first  grip  of  our  host's  hand,  but  they 
usually  cling  to  us  right  up  to  the  opening  of  the 
front  door;  and  as  I  on  this  particular  occasion 
had  only  got  as  far  as  the  platform  of  the  local 
station,  my  soul  adhoesit  pavimento. 

After  the  habit  of  shy  persons,  I  compiled  a 
list  of  my  own  special  handicaps  as  I  sat  in  my 
solitary  smoking-compartment.  As  far  as  I  can 
remember  they  ran  something  like  this:  — 

(1)  I  have  been  roaming  about  the  waste 
places  of  the  earth  for  more  than  ten  years, 
and  have  entirely  lost  any  social  qualities 
that  I  ever  possessed. 

(2)  For  people  who  like  that  sort  of  thing, 
house-parties  are  well  enough.    But  I  do 
not  understand  the  young  man  of  the 
present  day,  and  he  apparently  does  not 
understand  me.  As  for  the  modern  young 
woman,  I  simply  shrink  from  her  in  fear. 

(3)  I  have  never  met  my  host  and  hostess  in 
my  life. 

(4)  It  is  quite  possible  that  The  Freak  has 
forgotten  to  tell  his  parents  that  he  has 
invited  me. 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  FIRST  RESERVE      71 

(5)  In  any  case  I  probably  shall  not  be  met 
at  the  station,  and  there  are  never  any 
conveyances  to  be  had  at  these  places. 
Altogether  — 

At  this  moment  the  train  drew  up  at  Shotley 
Beauchamp,  and  a  smiling  groom  opened  the 
door  and  enquired  if  I  were  for  The  Towers. 
Item  Number  Five  was  accordingly  deleted  from 
my  catalogue  of  woes.  Two  minutes  later  Items 
One  to  Four  slipped  silently  away  into  the  limbo 
of  those  things  that  do  not  matter.  A  girl  was 
sitting  in  the  brougham  outside  the  station. 

"Lady  goin*  up,  too,  sir,"  remarked  the  groom 
into  my  ear.  "Her  maid,"  he  added,  "is  in  the 
dogcart.  You  got  a  man,  sir?" 

"No." 

The  groom  touched  his  hat  and  departed, 
doubtless  to  comfort  the  maid. 

I  paused  at  the  carriage-door,  and  by  means  of 
a  terrifying  cough  intimated  that  I,  too,  had  been 
invited  to  The  Towers,  and,  although  a  stranger 
and  unintroduced,  begged  leave  in  the  humblest 
manner  possible  to  assert  my  right  to  a  seat  in 
the  brougham. 

I  was  greeted  with  a  friendly  smile. 

"Come  in!   I  expect  you  are  Mr.  Carmyle." 

I  admitted  guardedly  that  'this  was  so,  and 
proceeded  to  install  myself  in  that  part  of  the 
brougham  not  already  occupied  by  the  lady's  hat. 


72  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"My  name  is  Constance  Darner,"  said  my 
companion,  as  the  brougham  started.  "Perhaps 
you  have  heard  of  me?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  "I  have  not." 

"Not  very  well  put!"  said  Miss  Darner 
reprovingly. 

"I  have  been  abroad  for  several  years,"  I 
murmured  in  extenuation. 

"I  know,"  said  my  companion,  nodding  her 
head.  "You  have  been  building  a  dam  across 
something  in  Africa." 

I  accepted  this  precise  summary  of  my  profes- 
sional career  with  becoming  meekness.  Miss 
Darner  continued:  — 

„"  And  I  suppose  you  are  feeling  a  little  bit  lost 
at  present." 

"Yes,"  I  said  heartily,  "I  am." 

"You  should  have  said  'Not  now!'"  explained 
my  companion  gently. 

I  apologised  again. 

"I  shall  make  allowances  for  you  until  you 
find  your  feet,"  said  Miss  Darner  kindly. 

I  thanked  her,  and  asked  whom  I  was  likely 
to  meet  at  The  Towers. 

Miss  Darner  ticked  off  the  names  of  the  party 
on  her  small  gloved  fingers.  (Have  I  mentioned 
that  she  was  petite  f) 

"Mr.  Mainwaring  and  Lady  Adela,"  she  said. 
"You  know  them,  of  course?" 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  FIRST  RESERVE     73 

"No.  I  saw  them  once  on  Speech  Day  at 
school  fifteen  years  ago.  That  is  all." 

"Well,  they  are  your  host  and  hostess." 

"Thank  you:  I  had  gathered  that,"  I  replied 
deferentially. 

"Then  Dicky." 

"Dicky?  Who  is—  Oh,  The  Frea—  Yes. 
Quite  so!  Proceed!" 

"What  did  you  call  him?"  asked  Miss  Darner, 
frankly  curious. 

"I  —  well  —  at  school  we  used  to  call  him  The 
Freak,"  I  explained.  "Men  very  often  never 
know  the  Christian  names  of  their  closest 
friends,"  I  added  feebly.  "Who  else?" 

"There  is  Hilda  Beverley,  of  course.  You  have 
heard  of  her?" 

"  N— no.     Ought  I  to  have  done?  " 

Miss  Darner's  brown  eyes  grew  quite  circular 
with  surprise. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  asked  incredu- 
lously, "that  Dicky  never  informed  you  that  he 
was  engaged?" 

"No.  You  see,"  I  pointed  out,  anxious  to 
clear  my  friend  of  all  appearance  of  lukewarm- 
ness  as  a  lover,  "I  only  met  him  the  other  day 
for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years,  and  we  natu- 
rally had  a  good  deal  to  tell  one  another;  and  so, 
as  it  happened  —  that  is — "  I  tailed  off  miser- 
ably under  Miss  Darner's  implacable  eye. 


74  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY . 

"You  are  his  greatest  friend,  aren't  you?" 
she  enquired. 

On  reflection  I  agreed  that  this  was  so,  although 
I  had  never  seriously  considered  the  matter  be- 
fore. Women  have  a  curious  habit  of  cataloguing 
their  friends  into  a  sort  of  order  of  merit  — 
"  My  greatest  friend,  my  greatest  friend  but  six," 
and  so  on.  The  more  sensitive  male  shrinks  from 
such  an  invidious  undertaking.  Dicky  and  I  had 
corresponded  with  one  another  with  comparative 
regularity  ever  since  our  University  days;  and 
when  two  Englishmen,  one  hopelessly  casual  and 
the  other  entirely  immersed  in  his  profession, 
achieve  this  feat,  I  suppose  they  rather  lay  them- 
selves open  to  accusations  of  this  sort. 

"And  he  never  told  you  he  was  engaged?" 

I  shook  my  head  apologetically. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Miss  Darner  charitably,  "I 
dare  say  he  would  have  remembered  later.  One 
can't  think  of  everything  in  a  single  conversa- 
tion, can  one?  "  she  added  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

I  was  still  pondering  a  suitable  and  sprightly 
defence  of  masculine  reserve  where  the  heart  is 
concerned,  when  the  carriage  swung  round 
through  lodge-gates,  and  the  gravel  of  the  drive 
crunched  beneath  our  wheels. 

"I  hope  the  old  Freak  and  his  girl  will  be  very 
happy  together,"  I  said,  rather  impulsively  for 
me.  "He  deserves  a  real  prize." 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  FIRST  RESERVE      75 

"You  are'right,"  said  Miss  Darner,  "he  does." 

My  heart  wanned  to  this  little  lady.  She  knew 
a  good  man  when  she  saw  one. 

"  Have  they  been  engaged  long?"  I  asked. 

"About  a  month." 

"Where  did  he  come  across  her?" 

"He  did  not  come  across  her,"  replied  Miss 
Darner  with  gentle  reproof,  as  a  Mother  Superior 
to  a  novice.  "They  were  brought  together." 

"That  means,"  I  said,  "that  it  is  what  is  called 
an  entirely  suitable  match?" 

Miss  Darner  nodded  her  small  wise  head. 

"From  a  parental  point  of  view,"  I  added. 

"From  Lady  Adela's  point  of  view,"  corrected 
Miss  Darner.  "Mr.  Mainwaring,  poor  old  dear, 
has  not  got  one." 

"But  what  about  The  Freak's  point  of  view?" 
I  enquired. 

"I  can  hear  you  quite  well  in  your  ordinary 
tone  of  voice,"  Miss  Darner  assured  me. 

I  apologised,  and  repeated  the  question. 

The  girl  considered.  Obviously,  it  was  a  deli- 
cate subject. 

"He  seems  quite  content,"  she  said  at  last. 
"But  then,  he  never  could  bear  to  disappoint  any 
one  who  had  taken  the  trouble  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  his  happiness." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  I  said,  "without 
any  mental  reservation  whatsoever,  whether  you 


76  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

consider  that  this  engagement  is  the  right  one  for 
him?" 

Miss  Darner's  eyes  met  mine  with  perfect 
frankness. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't.  What  is  more,  the 
engagement  is  beginning  to  wear  rather  thin. 
In  fact," — her  eyes  twinkled,  —  "I  believe 
that  Lady  Adela  is  thinking  of  calling  out  her 
First  Reserve." 

"You  mean  — " 

"I  mean,"  said  Miss  Darner,  "that  Lady  Adela 
is  thinking  of  calling  out  her  First  Reserve." 

A  natural  but  most  impertinent  query  sprang 
to  my  lips,  to  be  stifled  just  in  time. 

"You  were  going  to  say?"  enquired  Miss 
Darner. 

"I  was  going  to  say  what  a  pretty  carriage 
drive  this  is,"  I  replied  rapidly.  "You  will  be 
glad  of  a  cup  of  tea,  though?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  my  companion  brightly; 
but  her  attitude  said  "Coward!"  as  plainly  as 
could  be. 

Still,  there  are  some  questions  which  one  can 
hardly  ask  a  lady  after  an  acquaintance  of  only 
ten  minutes. 

"There  is  the  house,"  continued  Miss  Darner, 
as  our  conveyance  weathered  a  great  clump  of 
rhododendrons.  "Are  n't  you  glad  that  this  long 
and  dusty  journey  is  over  ?  " 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  FIRST  RESERVE     77 

"Not  now!"  I  replied. 

My  little  'preceptress  turned  and  bestowed 
on  me  a  beaming  smile. 

"That  is  much  better!  "she  remarked 'approv- 
ingly. 


CHAPTER  V 

VERY  ODIOUS 


WE  found  the  house-party  at  tea  in  the  hall  of 
The  Towers.  The  Main  waring  parents  proved 
to  be  a  little  old  gentleman,  with  grey  side- 
whiskers  and  a  subdued  manner,  and  an  imposing 
matron  of  fifty,  who  deliberately  filled  the  teapot 
to  the  brim  with  lukewarm  water  upon  our  ap- 
proach and  then  gave  me  two  fingers  to  shake. 
To  Miss  Darner  was  accorded  a  "  Constance  — 
dear  child!"  and  a  cold  peck  upon  the  right 
cheek. 

After  that  I  was  introduced  to  Dicky's  sister 
Sylvia  —  a  tall  and  picturesque  young  woman, 
dressed  in  black  velvet  with  a  lace  collar.  She 
wore  the  air  of  a  tragedy  queen  —  not,  it  struck 
me,  because  she  felt  like  a  tragedy  queen,  but 
because  she  considered  that  the  pose  suited  her. 

The  party  was  completed  by  a  subaltern 
named  Crick  —  a  jovial  youth  with  a  penchant 
for  comic  songs,  obviously  attached  to  the  person 
of  Miss  Sylvia  Mainwaring  —  and  of  course,  The 
Freak's  lady-love,  Miss  Hilda  Beverley,  to  whom 
I  was  shortly  presented. 


VERY  ODIOUS  79 

I  am  afraid  our  conversation  was  not  a  con- 
spicuous success.  Miss  Beverley  was  tall,  hand- 
some, patrician,  and  cultivated,  obviously  well- 
off  and  an  admirable  talker.  Still,  it  takes  two 
to  make  a  dialogue,  and  when  one's  own  contri- 
butions to  the  same,  however  unprovocative, 
are  taken  up  seriatim,  analysed,  turned  inside 
out,  and  set  aside  with  an  amused  smile  by  a  lady 
who  evidently  regards  a  conversation  with  one 
of  her  fiance's  former  associates  as .  a  chasten- 
ing but  beneficial  form  of  intellectual  discipline, 
a  man  may  be  excused  for  not  sparkling. 

Half  an  hour  later,  perspiring  gently,  I  was 
rescued  by  The  Freak  and  conducted  to  the 
smoking-room. 

"You  never  told  me  you  were  engaged,  old 
man,"  I  said,  as  we  settled  down  to  a  little  much- 
needed  refreshment. 

"It's  a  fact,  though,"  replied  The  Freak 
proudly.  "A  marriage  has  been  arranged  —  and 
all  that.  Say  when." 

"And  will  shortly  take  place,  I  suppose?" 

"No  immediate  hurry,"  said  The  Freak  easily. 
"There  are  one  or  two  things  that  Hilda  wants 
to  cure  me  of  before  we  face  the  starter.  This, 
for  instance."  He  held  up  an  extremely  dilute 
whiskey-and-soda.  "Between  meals,  that  is. 
Likewise  my  —  er  —  casual  outlook  on  life  in 
general." 


80  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Miss  Beverley  will  have  her  hands  full,"  I 
observed. 

"Think  so?  She  will  do  it,  though,"  replied 
my  renegade  friend  confidently.  "She  is  a  very 
capable  girl.  Regards  me  as  her  mission  in  life. 
I  feel  jolly  proud  about  it,  I  can  tell  you  —  like 
one  of  those  reformed  drunkards  they  stand  up 
on  the  platform  to  tell  people  what  a  Nut  he  used 
to  be  in  the  old  days,  and  look  at  him  now !  By 
the  way,  I  promised  Hilda  I  would  n't  use  the 
word  *  Nut '  any  more.  Check  me  if  I  become  too 
colloquial,  old  son.  Hilda  is  rather  down  on  what 
she  calls  my  *  inability  to  express  myself  in  ra- 
tional English/" 

"Colloquialism  was  not  formerly  a  failing  of 
yours,  Freak,"  I  said.  "As  a  small  boy  you  were 
rather  inclined  the  other  way." 

"As  a  small  boy,  yes,"  agreed  The  Freak. 
"But  it  is  not  easy  to  maintain  the  pedantic 
habit  at  a  public  school,"  he  added  feelingly. 

"Do  you  remember  once,"  I  continued,  "tell- 
ing old  Hanbury,  when  he  dropped  upon  you  for 
giggling  in  form,  that  your  *  risible  faculties  had 
been  unduly  excited  by  the  bovine  immobility 
of  Bailey  minor'?" 

"Yes,  I  remember.  Hilda  would  have  been 
proud  of  me  that  day,"  replied  The  Freak,  sigh- 
ing over  his  lost  talent.  "Now  she  thinks  me  too 
flippant  and  easy-going.  Lacking  in  dignity,  and 


VERY  ODIOUS  81 

so  forth.  But  if  you  watch  me  carefully  during 
your  stay  here  you  will  find  that  I  have  very 
largely  regained  my  old  form.  I  am  getting 
frightfully  intellectual.  You  ought  to  see  us 
reading  Browning  together  before  breakfast.  It 
is  a  sublime  spectacle.  Talking  of  sublime  spec- 
tacles, we  are  all  going  to  Laxley  Races  on  Tues- 
day, and  I  can  give  you  an  absolutely  dead  snip 
for  the  Cup." 

The  next  ten  minutes  were  devoted  to  a  con- 
versation which,  from  the  point  of  view  both  of 
subject-matter  and  expression,  must  have  undone 
the  regenerative  work  of  several  weeks.  Fortu- 
nately Miss  Beverley  was  adorning  herself  for 
dinner  at  the  time  —  the  most  austere  feminine 
intellect  goes  into  mufti,  so  to  speak,  between 
the  hours  of  seven  and  eight  P.M.  — and  we  made 
our  provisional  selections  for  Tuesday's  pro- 
gramme undisturbed. 

The  student  of  Browning  finished  scribbling 
down  the  names  of  horses  on  the  back  of  an 
envelope. 

"That  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "Plumstone  for 
the  Shotley  Stakes,  Little  Emily  for  the  Maiden 
Plate,  and  Gigadibs  or  Jedfoot  for  the  big  race. 
The  others  can  keep.  Shall  we  go  up  and  dress 
for  dinner?" 

I  agreed,  and  we  knocked  out  our  pipes.' 

"What  do  you  think,  by  the  way,"  enquired 


82  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  Freak  casually,  "of  little  Connie  Darner?" 
I  told  him. 
We  were  late  for  dinner. 

ii 

A  shy  but  observant  male,  set  down  in  an  Eng- 
lish country-house,  soon  realises,  especially  when 
he  has  been  compelled  for  a  period  of  years  to 
rely  for  amusement  almost  entirely  upon  his  own 
society,  the  truth  of  the  saying  that  the  proper 
study  of  mankind  is  Man  —  with  which  is  incor- 
porated Woman. 

At  The  Towers  I  became  an  interested  and 
uneasy  spectator  of  the  continued  reformation  of 
my  friend  Dicky  Mainwaring.  During  the  same 
period  I  had  constant  opportunities  of  compar- 
ing the  characters  and  dispositions  of  his  first 
and  (presumably)  second  choices,  Mesdames 
Beverley  and  Darner,  and  in  a  lesser  degree  of 
his  sister  Sylvia. 

Further  acquaintance  with  Miss  Beverley  con- 
firmed my  first  impression  of  her.  She  struck  me 
more  and  more  as  exactly  the  kind  of  girl  whom 
a  careful  mother  would  select  as  a  helpmeet  for 
a  somewhat  erratic  son.  She  was  cool,  aloof, 
capable,  and  decided,  with  very  distinct  ideas 
upon  the  subject  of  personal  dignity  and  good 
form.  She  had  already  cured  her  fiance  of  many 
regrettable  habits.  Dicky,  I  found,  no  longer 


VERY  ODIOUS  83 

greeted  tinder-housemaids  upon  the  stairs  with 
"Hallo,  Annie!  How  is  your  bad  knee  getting 
on?"  Instead,  he  hurried  past  the  expectant 
damsel  with  averted  eyes.  He  no  longer  slipped 
warm  shillings  into  the  hands  of  beggar-women 
who  assailed  him  with  impossible  tales  of  woe  in 
the  back  drive:  instead,  he  apologetically  handed 
them  tickets  of  introduction  to  the  Charity 
Organisation  Society,  with  a  packet  of  which 
Miss  Beverley  had  relentlessly  provided  him. 
He  kept  accounts.  He  answered  letters  by 
return  of  post.  He  perused  closely  printed  vol- 
umes, and  became  enrolled  in  intellectual  socie- 
ties with  mysterious  aims  and  titles  difficult  to 
remember. 

"Tiny,  my  bonny  boy,"  he  enquired  of  me  one 
morning  after  breakfast,  "do  you  happen  to 
have  any  sort  of  notion  what  Eugenics  is  — 
or  are?" 

"I  believe,"  I  replied  hazily,  "that  it  is  some 
sort  of  scheme  for  improving  the  physique  of  the 
race." 

Dicky  nodded  appreciatively. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "One  of  old  Sandow's 
schemes.  His  name  is  Eugen.  That  is  better 
than  I  thought.  I  was  afraid  it  was  going  to  be 
another  kind  of  political  economy.  Hilda  wants 
me  to  become  a  local  vice-president  of  the  Eu- 
genic Society;  and  as  it  seems  to  be  a  less  pois — 


84  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

complicated  business  than  most  of  her  enterprises, 
I  think  I  will  plank  down  five  bob  and  win  a  good 
mark." 

And  off  he  went,  money  in  hand,  to  gain  an 
indulgent  smile  from  his  Minerva. 

Of  Sylvia  Mainwaring  I  need  only  say  at 
present  that  she  was  a  pale  shade  of  Miss 
Beverley. 

Miss  Constance  Darner  was  the  exact  opposite 
of  Miss  Beverley,  physically,  mentally,  and 
spiritually.  Miss  Beverley  was  tall,  dark,  and 
stately;  Miss  Darner  small,  fair,  and  vivacious. 
Miss  Beverley  was  patronising  and  gracious  in 
her  manner;  Miss  Darner's  prevailing  note  was 
unaffected  bonhomie.  But  where  Miss  Beverley 
slew  her  thousands,  Miss  Darner  slew  her  tens  of 
thousands;  for  she  possessed  what  the  other  did 
not,  that  supreme  gift  of  the  gods  —  charm  — 
magnetism  —  personality  —  whatever  you  like 
to  call  it.  In  all  my  life  I  have  never  known  a 
human  being  who  attracted  her  fellow-creat- 
ures with  so  little  effort  and  so  little  intention, 
and  who  inspired  love  and  affection  so  read- 
ily and  lastingly,  as  Constance  Darner.  She 
never  angled  for  admiration;  she  bestowed  no 
favours;  she  responded  to  no  advances;  but  she 
drew  all  the  world  after  her  like  Orpheus  with 
his  lute. 

That  is  all  I  need  say  about  Miss  Darner.  This 


VERY  ODIOUS  85 

narrative  concerns  itself  with  the  career  of  my 
good  friend  The  Freak,  Dicky  Mainwaring;  and 
the  persevering  reader  will  ultimately  discover 
(if  he  has  not  already  guessed)  that  Fate  had 
arranged  The  Freak's  future  on  a  basis  which  did 
not  include  the  lady  whom  I  have  just  de- 
scribed. 

With  masculine  admiration  Miss  Darner  did 
not  concern  herself  overmuch.  We  all  think 
lightly  of  what  can  be  had  in  abundance.  Not 
that  she  did  not  take  a  most  healthy  interest  in 
noting  what  mankind  thought  of  her;  but  her 
interest  would  undoubtedly  have  been  heightened 
if  she  could  have  felt  less  certain  what  the  verdict 
was  going  to  be.  I  honestly  believe  she  would 
have  been  thrilled  and  gratified  if  some  one  had 
passed  an  unfavourable  opinion  upon  her.  But 
no  one  ever  did. 

She  had  no  sisters  of  her  own,  so  large  families 
of  girls  were  an  abiding  joy  to  her.  These  received 
her  with  rapture  —  especially  the  shy  and  gawky 
members  thereof  —  and  made  much  of  her, 
sunning  themselves  in  the  unaffected  kindliness 
of  her  nature  and  gloating  over  her  clothes  for 
as  long  as  they  could  keep  her.  She  was  greatly 
in  request,  too,  among  small  boys,  for  purposes 
of  football  and  the  like;  but  her  chief  passion  in 
life,  as  I  discovered  one  afternoon  when  Dicky 
and  I  surprised  her  at  tea  with  the  coachman's 


86  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

family,  was  a  fat,  good-tempered,  accommodat- 
ing, responsive  baby. 

As  for  her  character  in  general,  I  think  its  out- 
standing feature  was  a  sort  of  fearless  friendli- 
ness. (Miss  Beverley  may  have  been  fearless, 
but  she  certainly  was  not  friendly.)  Constance 
Darner's  was  the  absolute  fearlessness  of  a  child 
who  has  never  yet  encountered  anything  to  be 
afraid  of.  It  is  given  to  few  of  us  to  walk  through 
life  without  coming  face  to  face  at  times  with 
some  of  its  ugliness.  Apparently  this  had  never 
happened  to  Miss  Darner.  I  say  "apparently," 
but  such  a  wise  and  discerning  young  person  as  I 
ultimately  found  her  to  be  could  never  really 
have  been  blind  or  indifferent  to  the  sadder  facts 
of  this  world  of  ours.  Consequently  I  often  found 
myself  enquiring  why  her  attitude  towards  her 
fellow-creatures  as  a  whole  was  so  entirely  fear- 
less and  trustful,  when  she  must  have  known  that 
so  many  of  them  were  to  be  feared  and  so  few 
to  be  trusted.  I  fancy  the  reason  must  have  been 
that  she  possessed  the  power  of  compelling  every 
one  —  man,  woman,  child,  horse,  and  dog  —  to 
turn  only  their  best  side  towards  her.  Rough  folk 
answered  her  gently,  silent  folk  became  chatty, 
surly  folk  smiled,  fretful  folk  cheered  up,  awk- 
ward folk  felt  at  home  in  her  presence;  children 
summed  up  the  general  attitude  by  clinging  to 
her  skirts  and  begging  her  to  play  with  them.  It 


VERY  ODIOUS  87 

was  impossible  to  imagine  any  one  being  rude  to 
her,  and  certainly  I  never  knew  any  one  who  was 
—  not  even  Miss  Beverley. 

But  she  never  abused  her  power.    She  never 
domineered,  never  put  on  airs,  never  ordered  us 
about,  never  revealed  her  consciousness  that  we 
were  all  her  servants.  That  is  true  greatness. 
•        •••••••• 

As  you  very  properly  observe,  this  is  a  book 
about  Dicky  Mainwaring.  Revenons  a  nos 
moutonslj 


CHAPTER  VI 

•*  '•' 

FORBIDDEN   FRUIT  —  A   DIGRESSION 

LADY  ADELA  stood  in  the  hall,  engaged  in  her 
favourite  pursuit  of  guest-dragooning. 

"Mr.  Mainwaring  is  not  coming,"  she  an- 
nounced. "Dick,  Hilda,  Constance,  Sylvia,  and 
Mr.  Crick  will  go  in  the  motor.  Mr.  Carmyle, 
will  you  give  me  your  company  in  the  victoria?  " 

I  smiled  wanly  and  thanked  her.  Perhaps  the 
punishment  fitted  the  crime,  but  it  was  none  the 
less  a  heavy  one.  Still,  one  should  not  seek  out 
forbidden  fruit,  or  tamper  with  First  Reserves. 

Briefly,  the  facts  of  the  case  were  these. 

After  breakfast  on  the  day  of  Laxley  Races  — 
a  blazing  August  morning  —  Miss  Constance 
Darner  invited  me  to  accompany  her  to  the 
orchard  to  pick  green  apples. 

"I  have  a  clean  white  frock  on,"  she  explained, 
"or  I  would  not  trouble  you." 

I  assured  her  that  it  was  no  trouble. 

We  duly  reached  the  orchard,  where  Miss 
Darner  ate  three  green  apples  and  presented  me 
with  a  fourth,  which,  fearing  a  fifth,  I  consumed 
as  slowly  as  possible,  hoping  for  the  sake  of  our 
first  parents  that  Eve's  historic  indiscretion  took 
place  in  late  September  and  not  early  August. 


FORBIDDEN  FRUIT  89 

Presently  we  came  to  a  red-brick  wall  with  a 
south  aspect,  upon  which  the  noonday  sun  beat 
warmly.  High  up  upon  its  face  grew  plums,  fat, 
ripe,  and  yellow. 

Miss  Darner  threw  away  the  core  of  an  apple 
and  turned  to  me. 

"I  should  like  a  plum,"  she  said,  with  a  sera- 
phic smile. 

The  wall  was  fifteen  feet  high,  and  the  plums 
grew  near  the  top. 

"I  will  find  a  ladder,"  I  replied  obediently. 

"That  would  be  bothering  you  too  much," 
said  the  considerate  Miss  Darner.  "Can't  you 
put  your  foot  in  that  root  and  pull  yourself  up  by 
the  branches?" 

The  branches,  be  it  said,  were  gnarled  and 
fragile,  and  lay  flat  against  the  wall. 

"I  think  the  ladder  would  be  better,"  I  re- 
peated. "My  weight  might  pull  the  whole  thing 
away  from  the  wall,  and  then  we  should  have  a 
few  observations  from  Lady  Adela." 

"  You  are  right;  that  would  never  do,"  replied 
my  right-minded  companion  gravely.  "But  I 
don't  know  where  they  keep  the  ladder,  and  in 
any  case  it  would  probably  be  locked  up.  What 
a  pity  I  have  this  white  skirt  on!" 

She  turned  away.  A  low  tremulous  sigh  escaped 
her. 

Next  moment,  feeling  utterly  and  despicably 


90  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

weak-minded,  I  found  myself  ascending  the  wall, 
much  as  a  blue-bottle  ascends  a  window-pane. 
Miss  Darner  stood  below  with  clasped  hands. 

"Do  be  careful,  Mr.  Carmyle,"  she  besought 
me.  "You  might  hurt  yourself  very  seriously  if 
you  fell.  I  will  have  that  big  one,  please,  just 
above  your  head." 

I  secured  the  object  indicated  and  threw  it 
down  to  her.  She  caught  it  deftly. 

"There  is  another  one  on  your  left,"  continued 
Eve.  "Can  you  reach  it?" 

I  could,  and  did. 

"I  will  keep  this  one  for  you,  Mr.  Carmyle," 
said  my  thoughtful  companion  as  she  caught  it. 
"I  think  I  will  have  one  more.  There  is  a  per- 
fectly lovely  one  there,  out  to  your  right.  You 
can  just  get  it  if  you  stretch.  Throw  it  down." 

The  plum  in  question  was  a  monster,  and  looked 
ripe  to  the  moment.  I  straddled  myself  athwart 
the  plum  tree,  much  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who 
is  about  to  receive  five  hundred  lashes,  and 
reached  far  out  to  the  right. 

"Another  two  inches  will  do  it,"  called  out 
Miss  Darner  encouragingly. 

She  was  right.  I  strained  two  inches  further, 
and  my  fingers  closed  upon  the  fruit.  Simultane- 
ously the  greater  part  of  the  plum  tree  aban- 
doned its  adherence  to  the  wall,  and  in  due 
course,  —  about  four-fifths  of  a  second,  I  should 


FORBIDDEN  FRUIT  91 

say,  —  I  found  myself  lying  on  my  back  in  a 
gooseberry-bush,  clasping  to  my  bosom  the 
greater  part  of  a  valuable  fruit  tree,  dimly  con- 
scious, from  glimpses  through  the  interstices  of 
my  leafy  bower,  of  the  presence  of  a  towering 
and  majestic  figure  upon  the  gravel  walk  beside 
Miss  Darner. 

It  was  Lady  Adela  Mainwaring,  my  hostess, 
armed  cap-a-pie  in  gauntlets,  green  baize  apron, 
and  garden  hat,  for  a  murderous  morning  among 
the  slugs. 

I  struggled  to  a  sitting  position,  slightly  dazed, 
and  not  a  little  apprehensive  lest  I  should  be 
mistaken  for  a  slug. 

Neither  Miss  Darner  nor  my  hostess  uttered  a 
word,  Lady  Adela  because  her  high  breeding  and 
immense  self-control  restrained  her;  Miss  Darner, 
I  shrewdly  suspect,  because  she  was  engaged  in 
bolting  the  last  evidence  of  her  complicity.  But 
both  ladies  were  regarding  me  with  an  expression 
of  pained  reproach. 

I  shook  myself  free  from  my  arboreal  surround- 
ings, and  smiled  weakly. 

"Have  you  hurt  yourself,  Mr.  Carmyle?" 
enquired  Lady  Adela. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  replied,  wondering  if  I 
would  have  received  a  lighter  sentence  if  I  had 
said  yes. 

"If  you  should  desire  to  eat  fruit  at  any  time," 


92  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

continued  Lady  Adela  in  a  gentle  voice,  much  as 
one  might  address  an  imbecile  subject  to  sudden 
attacks  of  eccentric  mania,  "one  of  the  garden- 
ers will  always  be  glad  to  get  it  for  you.  You  had 
better  go  in  now  and  dress,  as  we  start  for  the 
races  in  half  an  hour.  Constance,  dearest,  run 
and  find  Puttick,  and  ask  him  if  anything  can  be 
done  for  this  tree." 

Miss  Darner  tripped  obediently  away  in  search 
of  the  head-gardener,  and  Lady  Adela  led  me 
kindly  but  firmly  past  the  gooseberry-bushes  and 
other  sources  of  temptation  to  the  house. 

I  did  not  see  Miss  Darner  again  until  I  met  her 
with  the  others  in  the  hall  half  an  hour  later. 

She  projected  a  sad  smile  upon  me  through  her 
motor- veil,  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  hope  you  did  n't  hurt  yourself,"  she  said 
softly. 

"  I  hope  the  last  plumstone  did  n't  choke  you ! " 
I  replied  sternly. 

At  this  moment  Lady  Adela  joined  the  party, 
and  pronounced  sentence  as  recorded  at  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter.  The  other  five 
accordingly  descended  the  steps  and  began  to 
pack  themselves  into  the  motor. 

"May  I  drive,  Dicky?"  enquired  Miss  Darner. 

No  one  ever  thought  of  refusing  Miss  Darner 
anything.  Her  request  was  evidently  the  merest 
matter  of  form,  for  she  was  at  the  wheel  almost 


FORBIDDEN  FRUIT  93 

as  soon  as  she  made  it.  Even  Lady  Adela  merely 
smiled  indulgently. 

"Constance,  dear  child!"  she  murmured. 

Dicky  carefully  packed  his  fiancee  into  the 
back  seat,  where  his  sister  had  already  taken  her 
place. 

"  You  had  better  sit  between  us,  I  think,"  said 
Miss  Beverley. 

"I  am  going  to  sit  in  front,"  said  Dicky,  "in 
case  Connie  does  anything  specially  crack- 
brained  with  the  car.  Crick,  old  friend,  just 
separate  these  two  fair  ladies,  will  you?" 

Mr.  Crick  obeyed  with  alacrity.  The  Freak, 
heedless  of  a  tiny  cloud  upon  Miss  Beverley's 
usually  serene  brow,  stepped  up  beside  Miss 
Darner.  That  lady  released  her  clutch-pedal,  and 
the  car,  spurting  up  gravel  with  its  back  wheels, 
shot  convulsively  forward  and  then  began  to 
crawl  heavily  on  its  way. 

"We'll  put  something  on  for  you  if  you  aren't 
in  time  for  the  first  race,  Bill,"  called  The  Freak 
tome.  "What  do  you  want  to  back?" 

I  inflated  my  lungs,  and  replied  fortissimo:  — 

"Plumstone!" 

Miss  Darner's  small  foot  came  heavily  down 
upon  the  accelerator,  and  the  car  whizzed  down 
the  drive. 


CHAPTER  VII 

UNEARNED   INCREMENT 

LADY  ADELA  and  I  studiously  avoided  all  refer- 
ence to  gardening  or  diet  upon  our  six-mile  drive 
to  Laxley,  and  reached  the  course  in  a  condition 
of  comparative  amicability. 

We  arrived  just  in  time  to  hear  the  roar  that 
greeted  the  result  of  the  first  race. 

"I  wonder  what  has  won,"  I  said,  as  the 
victoria  bumped  over  the  grass. 

"I  have  never  been  greatly  interested  in  rac- 
ing," said  Lady  Adela  majestically.  "My  father 
was  devoted  to  it,  and  so  is  my  brother  Rum- 
borough.  But  I  never  know  one  horse  from  an- 
other. For  instance,  I  have  not  the  faintest 
notion  which  of  the  two  animals  now  drawing  us 
is  Romulus  and  which  is  Remus,  although  Dick 
says  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  them.  But  then 
Dick  has  a  name  for  every  animal  in  the  estate. 
Ah !  there  is  the  motor,  against  the  railings !  That 
is  rather  a  relief.  Dear  Constance  is  an  excellent 
driver,  Dick  says,  but  she  is  inclined  to  be  ven- 
turesome." 

"Miss  Darner  appears  to  be  a  lady  of  excep- 
tional talents,"  I  observed. 


UNEARNED  INCREMENT          95 

"Yes,  indeed!"  agreed  Lady  Adela,  with,  for 
her,  quite  remarkable  enthusiasm.  "It  is  a  pity 
she  has  no  money." 

I  do  not  know  whether  the  last  remark  was 
intended  as  a  lamentation  or  an  intimation.  But 
I  understood  now  why  Miss  Darner  was  only 
First  Reserve. 

I  changed  the  subject. 

"I  suppose  you  do  not  bet,  Lady  Adela?" 

"I  make  it  a  rule,"  replied  my  hostess  pre- 
cisely, "to  put  half-a-sovereign  on  any  horse 
whose  owner  we  happen  to  know.  One  should 
always  support  one's  friends,  should  not  one?" 

I  was  still  pondering  in  my  heart  Lady  Adela's 
system  of  turf  speculation,  wondering  whether  if 
every  animal  in  the  race  had  belonged  to  a  friend 
she  would  have  backed  it,  and  in  any  case  what 
benefit  or  otherwise  (beyond  shortening  the  price) 
one  confers  upon  an  owner  by  backing  his  horses 
at  all,  when  the  victoria,  rolling  heavily,  came  to 
anchor  astern  of  the  motor,  and  Hilda  Beverley, 
Sylvia,  and  Crick,  who  had  been  standing  upon 
the  seats  to  view  the  race,  turned  to  greet  us. 

"I  had  no  idea  racing  was  so  exciting,  dear 
Lady  Adela,"  exclaimed  Miss  Beverley.  "I 
came  armed  with  a  copy  of  'The  Nation,'  pre- 
pared to  spend  the  afternoon  in  the  back  seat  of 
the  car,  and  here  I  am  quite  thrilled." 

"I  am  so  glad,  dear  Hilda,"  said  Lady  Adela 


96  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

graciously.  "Dick  would  have  been  disappointed 
if  you  had  not  enjoyed  yourself.  Where  is  that 
boy,  by  the  way?  " 

"He  and  Connie  have  gone  to  collect  Mr. 
Carmyle's  winnings,"  said  Sylvia. 

"Has — -ha!  h'm!  —  Plumstone  won,  then?" 
I  enquired,  timorously  avoiding  Lady  Adela's 
eye. 

"Yes,  worse  luck!"  replied  Mr.  Crick  lugubri- 
ously. "We  were  all  on  Mercutio.  But  Miss 
Darner  stuck  to  it  that  Plumstone  was  the  right 
horse,  and  made  Dicky  put  on  five  shillings  for 
her  and  five  for  you.  They  got  three  to  one,  I 
believe." 

At  this  moment  Dicky  and  Miss  Darner  re- 
turned from  the  ring,  and  I  was  duly  presented 
with  six  half-crowns. 

"Three-quarters  of  an  hour  till  the  next  race," 
announced  Dicky.  "Better  have  lunch." 

By  this  time  the  whole  party  had  become 
infected  with  that  fierce  spirit  of  cupidity  which 
assails  respectable  Britons  when  they  find  them- 
selves in  the  neighbourhood  of  that  singularly 
uncorrupt  animal,  the  horse;  and  the  succeeding 
half-hour  was  devoted  by  seven  well-born  and 
well-to-do  persons  to  an  elaborate  consideration 
of  the  best  means  of  depriving  a  hard-working 
and  mainly  deserving  section  of  the  community 
of  as  large  a  sum  of  money  as  possible. 


UNEARNED  INCREMENT          97 

Our  symposium  resulted  in  a  far  from  unani- 
mous decision.  Lady  Adela,  having  studied  the 
list  of  owners'  names  upon  the  card,  handed  me  a 
sovereign  and  instructed  me  to  seek  out  a  book- 
maker who  should  be  both  cheap  and  respectable, 
and  back  the  Earl  of  Moddlewick's  Extinguisher 
and  Mr.  Hector  McCorquodale's  Inverary.  Mr. 
Crick,  the  expert  of  the  party,  let  fall  dark  hints 
on  the  subject  of  a  quadruped  named  The 
Chicken.  Dicky  and  I  decided  to  wait  until  the 
numbers  went  up. 

"Dick,  you  must  positively  back  a  horse  for 
me  this  time,"  announced  Miss  Beverley. 

"You  are  getting  on,  Hilda!"  replied  The 
Freak,  obviously  pleased  to  find  his  beloved  in 
sympathy  with  his  simple  pleasures. 

Miss  Beverley  handed  him  five  shillings. 

"And  if  the  horse  does  n't  win  I  shall  never 
speak  to  you  again,"  she  concluded;  and  from 
the  tone  of  her  voice  I  could  not  help  feeling  that 
she  meant  what  she  said. 

"What  is  your  selection  this  time,  Connie?" 
asked  Sylvia. 

Miss  Darner  produced  a  dirty  pink  envelope 
and  began  to  open  it. 

Dicky  laughed. 

"Connie  has  been  patronising  a  tipster,"  he 
said. 

"I  got  this,"  explained  Miss  Darner,  "from  a 


98  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

man  on  the  course.  His  name  was  Lively.  He 
was  trying  to  earn  an  honest  living,  he  said,  by 
supplying  reliable  stable  information  to  sports- 
men; but  he  did  n't  seem  to  be  getting  on  very 
well,  poor  thing!  People  were  standing  all  round 
him  in  a  ring,  laughing,  and  nobody  would  buy 
any  of  his  envelopes,  although  he  had  given  lots 
of  them  the  winner  of  the  first  race  for  nothing. 
Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  Dicky  and  me  stand- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  He  pushed  his  way 
towards  us,  and  said  that  if  I  bought  one  of  his 
tips,  he  knew  it  would  bring  him  luck.  He  said," 
Miss  Darner  added  with  a  smile  of  genuine  grati- 
fication, "that  I  was  a  beautiful  young  lady.  So 
I  bought  one  of  his  envelopes,  and  after  that  a 
lot  of  other  people  did,  too." 

Dicky  grinned. 

"  Yes;  that  was  the  point  at  which  we  ought  to 
have  passed  along  quietly,"  he  said. 

"Did  n't  you?  "I  asked. 

"Bless  you,  no!  Connie  had  n't  nearly  finished. 
She  and  her  friend  were  as  thick  as  thieves  by 
this  time.  The  conversation  was  just  beginning 
to  interest  them." 

"What  did  you  find  to  talk  about,  Miss 
Darner?"  asked  Hilda  Beverley  curiously. 

"I  could  n't  help  wondering,"  Connie  con- 
tinued, "whether  he  had  a  wife  and  children  to 
support;  so  I  asked  him  if  he  was  married.  He 


UNEARNED   INCREMENT          99 

said  he  was  afraid  he  was,  but  if  ever  he  became 
a  widower  he  would  let  me  know.  We  left  after 
that." 

"Constance,  dear  child!"  began  Lady  Adela, 
amid  unseemly  laughter. 

"It  was  all  right,  Lady  Adela,"  Miss  Darner 
assured  her.  "They  were  quite  a  nice  crowd,  and 
I  had  Dicky  with  me." 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  better  able  to  take  care 
of  yourself  than  I  am,  old  lady,"  said  The  Freak 
admiringly. 

I  saw  Miss  Beverley's  fine  eyes  rest  disap- 
provingly for  a  moment  upon  her  philogyuistic 
swain.  Then  some  one  asked:  — 

"What  is  your  tip,  Connie?" 

Miss  Darner  scanned  her  paper. 

"  It 's  not  very  well  written,"  she  said.  "  Perry 
—  Perry —  something." 

"  Periander  ?  "  I  suggested.  "  He  is  on  the  card." 

"  Yes  —  Periander.   I  shall  back  him." 

"Rank  outsider,"  said  Mr.  Crick's  warning 
voice. 

"I  shall  back  him  all  the  same,"  persisted  Miss 
Darner,  with  a  little  nod  of  finality.  "It  would 
n't  be  fair  to  Lively's  luck  if  I  didn't.  Mr. 
Carmyle,  will  you  come  and  find  a  bookmaker 
with  me?" 

We  departed  together,  and  pushed  our  way 
through  the  crowd  to  the  ring.  On  our  journey 


100  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

we  passed  Miss  Darner's  protege,  still  dispensing 
reliable  information  in  a  costume  composed  of 
check  trousers,  an  officer's  scarlet  mess-jacket, 
stained  and  bleached  almost  beyond  recogni- 
tion by  the  accidents  of  many  race-courses,  and 
a  large  bowler  hat  adorned  with  a  peacock's 
feather.  A  broken  nose  made  him  conveniently 
recognisable  by  those  (if  such  there  were)  who 
might  desire  to  consult  him  a  second  time.  Miss 
Darner,  for  whom  castaways  and  lame  dogs  in  gen- 
eral seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  fascination,  showed 
a  disposition  to  linger  again ;  but  a  timely  reminder 
as  to  the  necessity  of  getting  our  money  on  at 
once  took  us  past  the  danger  point  and  saved  me 
from  participating  in  a  public  appearance. 

Presently  we  found  ourselves  amid  the  book- 
making  fraternity.  The  numbers  of  the  runners 
had  gone  up,  and  lungs  of  brass  were  proclaiming 
the  odds  in  fierce  competition. 

"What  does  'six  to  four  the  field*  mean?" 
enquired  Miss  Darner.  "I  always  forget." 

I  turned  to  answer  the  question,  but  found 
that  it  had  not  been  addressed  to  me.  My  com- 
panion was  now  engaged  in  animated  conversa- 
tion with  a  total  stranger,  and  for  the  next  five 
minutes  I  stood  respectfully  aloof  while  the  pair 
discussed  seriatim  the  prospects  of  each  horse 
upon  the  card. 

"He  says  Periander  is  an  outsider,"  Miss 


UNEARNED  INCREMENT         101 

Darner  informed  me,  as  the  man  moved  away, 
awkwardly  raising  his  hat.  "But  I  think  I  must 
back  him.  Cornucopia  is  a  certainty  for  this 
race,  he  told  me."  ("A  pinch"  was  what  the 
gentleman  had  said:  I  overheard  him.)  "You 
had  better  put  something  on  him." 

I  meekly  assented,  and  after  Miss  Darner  had 
found  her  bookmaker  we  adventured  ten  shill- 
ings upon  Periander  and  Cornucopia  respec- 
tively. Public  estimation  of  the  former  animal's 
form  was  such  as  to  secure  odds  of  ten  to  one 
for  Miss  Darner.  I  was  informed  that  the  two 
steeds  owned  by  the  Earl  of  Moddlewick  and 
Mr.  Hector  McCorquodale  were  not  running, 
so  a  Diogenean  search  for  Lady  Adela's  cheap 
and  respectable  bookmaker  was  not  required 
of  me. 

Suddenly  a  bell  rang. 

"They're  off!"  exclaimed  Miss  Darner.  "We 
can't  cross  the  course  now.  Come  on  to  this 
stand." 

We  raced  up  a  flight  of  steps,  and  presently 
found  ourselves  on  a  long  balcony  in  a  position 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  entire  course. 

"Your  jockey,"  announced  Miss  Darner  to 
me,  "  is  pale  blue  with  chocolate  sleeves  and  cap. 
Mine  is  red,  with  white  hoops.  Can  you  see  them 
anywhere?" 
n  "I  can  see  mine,"  I  said.  "He  is  having  a  chat 


102  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

with  the  starter  at  present,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
he  will  tear  himself  away  presently." 

"But  the  others  are  halfway  home!"  cried 
Miss  Darner  in  dismay. 

"So  I  perceive." 

"You  poor  man!" 

"Never  mind!"  I  replied  quite  cheerfully. 
There  is  something  very  comforting  about  being 
called  a  poor  man  by  some  people.  "Where  is 
your  friend?" 

"There,  in  that  bunch  of  four.  He  is  going 
well,  is  n't  he?  That's  the  favourite,  Mustard 
Seed,  lying  back." 

"I  expect  his  jockey  will  let  him  out  after  he 
gets  into  the  straight,"  I  said. 

"If  he  isn't  very  careful,"  observed  Miss 
Darner  with  perfect  truth,  "he  will  get  shut  out 
altogether." 

The  horses  swept  round  the  last  corner  and 
headed  up  the  final  stretch  in  a  thundering  bunch. 
Suddenly  Miss  Darner  turned  to  me. 

"This  is  fearfully  dull  for  you,"  she  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  I  assured  her.  "My  horse  has 
just  started." 

"Come  in  with  me  on  Periander,"  pleaded  my 
companion.  "You  can  only  lose  five  shillings." 

I  closed  with  her  offer  by  a  nod.  Some  partner- 
ships can  be  accepted  without  negotiation  or 
guarantee. 


UNEARNED  INCREMENT         103 

Suddenly  the  crowd  gave  a  roar.  The  favourite 
had  bored  his  way  through  the  ruck  at  last.  He 
shot  ahead.  The  noise  became  deafening. 

"There  goes  our  half  -sovereign !"  shrieked 
Miss  Darner  despairingly  in  my  ear. 

"Wait  a  minute!"  I  bellowed.  "Periander 
is  n't  done  for  yet." 

There  came  a  yet  mightier  roar  from  the  crowd, 
and  as  we  leaned  precariously  over  the  balus- 
trade and  craned  our  necks  up  the  course,  we 
perceived  that  a  horse  whose  jockey  wore  red 
and  white  hoops  was  matching  the  favourite 
stride  for  stride. 

"Periander!  Periander!"  yelled  those  who 
stood  to  win  at  ten  to  one  against. 

"Mustard  Seed!"  howled  those  who  stood  to 
lose  at  six  to  four  on. 

But  they  howled  in  vain.  The  flail-like  whips 
descended  for  the  last  time;  there  was  a  flash  of 
red  and  white;  and  Periander  was  first  past  the 
post  by  a  length. 

We  descended  into  the  ring  and  sought  out 
our  bookmaker.  There  was  no  crowd  round  him : 
backers  of  Periander  had  not  been  numerous; 
and  it  was  with  a  friendly  and  indulgent  smile 
that  he  handed  Miss  Darner  her  half-sovereign 
and  a  five-pound  note. 

"Can  you  give  me  two-pounds-ten  for  this?" 
she  asked,  handing  me  the  note. 


104  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

It  was  useless  to  protest,  so  I  humbly  pocketed 
my  unearned  increment,  and  we  left  the  ring  in 
search  of  the  rest  of  our  party. 

"I  have  never  won  gold  before,"  announced 
the  small  capitalist  beside  me,  slipping  the  coins 
into  her  chain-purse  —  "let  alone  paper.'*  Her 
smiling  face  was  flushed  with  triumph. 

"I  think  I  know  who  will  rejoice  at  your  vic- 
tory to-morrow,"  I  said,  "and  participate  in  the 
fruits  thereof." 

"Who?" 

"The  coachman's  children,  the  gardener's 
children,  the  lodge-keeper's  children  — " 

But  Miss  Darner  was  not  listening. 

"Poor  Lively!"  she  said  suddenly.  "He  gave 
me  that  tip,  and  yet  he  could  n't  afford  to  back 
the  horse  himself." 

"Tipsters  do  not  as  a  rule  follow  their  own 
selections,"  I  said.  "I  don't  suppose,  either,  that 
Periander's  was  the  only  name  contained  in 
those  pink  envelopes  of  his.  You  really  ought 
not  —  " 

"Why,  there  he  is!"  exclaimed  Miss  Darner, 
upon  whom,  I  fear,  my  little  homily  had  been 
entirely  thrown  away. 

We  had  made  a  detour  to  avoid  the  crowd  on 
our  way  back  to  the  carriage,  and  were  now 
crossing  an  unfrequented  part  of  the  course.  My 
companion  pointed,  and  following  the  direction 


UNEARNED  INCREMENT         105 

of  her  hand  I  beheld,  projecting  above  a  green 
hillock  twenty  yards  away,  a  battered  bowler 
hat,  surmounted  by  a  peacock's  feather. 

"Come  this  way,"  commanded  Miss  Darner. 

I  followed  her  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
hillock.  There  lay  the  retailer  of  stable  secrets, 
resting  from  his  labours  before  the  next  race. 
Apparently  business  was  not  prospering.  His 
dirty,  villainous  face  looked  unutterably  pinched 
and  woe-begone.  His  eyes  were  closed.  Obviously 
he  had  not  lunched.  His  broken  nose  appeared 
more  concave  than  ever. 

At  our  approach  he  raised  his  head  listlessly. 

"Go  on,  and  wait  for  me,  please,"  said  Miss 
Darner  in  a  low  voice. 

I  obeyed.  One  always  obeyed  when  Miss 
Darner  spoke  in  that  tone,  and  evidently  some 
particularly  private  business  was  in  hand.  Al- 
ready the  child's  impulsive  fingers  were  fum- 
bling with  the  catch  of  her  chain  purse. 

I  took  up  my  stand  a  considerable  distance 
away.  I  had  no  fears  of  Lively.  One  does  not 
snatch  at  the  purse  of  an  angel  from  heaven.  My 
only  concern  was  that  the  angel's  generosity 
might  outrun  her  discretion. 

I  could  hear  her  making  a  breathless  little 
speech,  but  Lively  said  never  a  word.  I  was  not 
altogether  surprised.  Probably  he  was  afraid  of 
waking  up. 


106  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Presently  she  came  back  to  me,  smiling  fare- 
well at  her  pensioner  over  her  shoulder. 

"You'll  give  one  of  them  to  your  wife,  won't 
you?"  was  the  last  thing  I  heard  her  say. 

Then  she  rejoined  me,  and  we  walked  on. 

"How  much  money,"  I  enquired  severely, 
"will  you  have  left  out  of  your  winnings,  after 
providing  for  me  and  your  other  friend  and  the 
families  of  the  coachman  and  the  gardener  and 
the  lodge-keeper?" 

Again  Miss  Darner  was  not  attending. 

"Poor  Lively!"  she  said  softly. 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VIH 

A   RELAPSE 

THE  most  unpopular  man  in  the  group  which 
we  now  rejoined  was  undoubtedly  Mr.  Crick,  a 
blind  faith  in  whose  prescience  had  induced  Miss 
Beverley  and  Sylvia  Mainwaring  to  adventure 
an  aggregate  sum  of  ten  shillings  upon  Mustard 
Seed.  Ranking  a  good  second  in  the  order  of 
odium  came  Dicky,  who  had  executed  the  com- 
mission. The  fact  that  he  had  done  so  under 
protest  was  deemed  to  have  no  bearing  on  the 
case. 

Miss  Darner  said  nothing  about  our  little 
triumph,  and  I  was  well  content.  There  is  some- 
thing very  intimate  and  comfortable  about  a 
secret  of  this  kind. 

The  great  race  of  the  day,  the  Laxley  Cup, 
was  now  imminent,  and,  with  the  exception  of 
Lady  Adela,  who  issued  to  me  from  the  depths 
of  the  victoria  a  distinctly  somnolent  injunction 
to  persevere  in  my  support  of  the  property  of  the 
Earl  of  Moddlewick  and  Mr.  Hector  McCorquo- 
dale,  we  departed  in  a  body  to  back  our  respective 
fancies. 

"Miss  Beverley  seems  a  bit  put  out  about 


108  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

something,  my  son  Richard,"  I  observed,  as 
The  Freak  and  I  strolled  along  in  the  rear  of  the 
party. 

Dicky  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "she  is.  She  is  a  dear,  but  she 
hates  losing  money  worse  than  an  eye-tooth.  I 
must  find  a  winner  for  her  this  time,  or  I  shall 
have  to  listen  to  a  song  and  chorus.  You  noticed 
it,  too,  then?" 

"Yes.  But  it  was  before  she  lost  money.  Do 
you  think  she  disapproves  of  — " 

"Of  the  way  I  trot  around  after  Connie  — 
eh?  No,  to  do  her  justice,  I  don't  think  she 
minds  that  a  bit.  She  knows  that  Connie  and  I 
have  been  pals  ever  since  we  were  quite  small 
nippers.  Besides,"  concluded  my  friend  with  an 
entirely  gratuitous  chuckle,  "everybody  trots 
around  after  Connie,  don't  they?" 

I  admitted  briefly  that  this  was  so. 

"No;  it  is  the  loss  of  cash  chiefly  that  makes 
her  fractious,"  continued  Dicky.  "That,  and 
my  want  of  dignity  and  repose  on  public  occa- 


sions." 


"What  sort  of  exhibition  have  you  been  mak- 
ing of  yourself  this  time?"  I  enquired  gruffly. 
Dicky's  last  remark  still  rankled. 

"  Nothing  to  signify.  Hilda  and  I  were  taking 
a  stroll  on  the  course  together,  before  you  arrived, 
and  I  stopped  to  have  a  brief  chat  with  an  aged 


A  RELAPSE  109 

Irish  beggar-woman.  The  old  dame  had  a  shill- 
ing out  of  me  in  no  time,  and  we  departed  under 
a  perfect  blizzard  of  benediction.  Hilda  seemed 
rather  miffy  about  it :  said  I  was  making  her  and 
myself  conspicuous.  For  the  Lord's  sake,  put  me 
on  to  a  winner  for  her,  old  soul!" 

"Ask  Miss  Darner,"  I  said.  "She  is  the  mem- 
ber of  this  party  who  picks  up  reliable  informa- 
tion." 

But  Miss  Darner  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"She  is  somewhere  in  that  seething  mob,  back- 
ing horses  on  her  own  account,"  explained  Sylvia 
later.  "She  said  she  was  n't  going  to  bother  any 
of  the  men  this  time.  Do  you  think  it  is  quite 
safe?" 

"Connie  knows  her  way  about,"  said  Dicky. 
"But  perhaps  we  had  better  go  and  have  a  look 
for  her.  Do  you  know  which  bookie  she  has  been 
patronising,  Tiny?" 

"  Yes;  that  gentleman  by  the  railings,  with  the 
gamboge  waistcoat,"  I  replied.  "But  she  is  n't 
going  to  him  any  more.  She  has  taken  money 
off  him  twice,  and  considers  it  unfair  to  fleece 
him  again.  We  shall  find  her  looking  for  a  man 
with  a  large  bank-balance  and  no  children." 

"How  will  she  be  able  to  tell?"  enquired  that 
simple  soul,  Mr.  Crick. 

"From  what  I  know  of  her,"  I  said,  "she  will 
ask  him." 


110  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Loaded  with  injunctions  and  commissions  from 
the  other  two  ladies,  Dicky  and  I  pushed  our 
way  once  more  into  the  crowd  of  speculators. 
Finding  that  the  Earl  of  Moddlewick's  Ginger 
Jim  figured  upon  the  programme  and  was  actu- 
ally proposing  to  run,  I  backed  that  animal  on 
Lady  Adela's  behalf,  blushing  painfully  before 
the  thinly  veiled  amazement  and  compassion  of 
the  bookmaker  and  his  clerk.  Myself,  I  supported 
the  favourite,  for  reasons  of  my  own.  Dicky 
moved  feverishly  up  and  down  the  line,  putting 
money  on  horse  after  horse.  Apparently  Miss 
Beverley  was  to  back  a  winner  this  time. 

As  I  concluded  my  business,  I  caught  sight  of 
Miss  Darner's  lilac  frock  and  big  black  hat  in  the 
paddock.  She  was  engaged  in  an  ardent  conver- 
sation with  a  group  of  three  —  two  girls  and  a 
man  —  and  I  remember  wondering  whether  they 
were  actual  friends  of  hers  or  acquaintances  of 
the  moment,  drawn  unwittingly  but  perfectly 
willingly  into  the  small  siren's  net.  (As  it  turned 
out,  they  were  old  friends,  but  I  think  I  may  be 
excused  for  not  feeling  certain.)  I  was  a  little 
disappointed  at  her  preoccupation,  for  I  had 
been  hoping  for  another  deed  of  partnership. 

But  the  starting-bell  had  rung,  and  people 
were  clambering  on  to  the  stands. 

"Which  is  my  horse,  Dick?"  enquired  Hilda 
Beverley,  as  we  took  our  places. 


A  RELAPSE  111 

This  was  an  obvious  poser  for  my  friend. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute,"  he  said,  gazing 
diligently  through  his  binoculars.  "Yes,  yes!" 
He  coughed  with  intense  heartiness.  "It  is  doing 
very  well  —  very  well,  indeed ! " 

"But  which  one  is  it?"  asked  Miss  Beverley 
impatiently. 

"The  one  in  front,"  replied  The  Freak,  with 
perfect  truth. 

The  finish  was  imminent.  A  hundred  yards 
from  the  post  the  favourite  cracked,  and  his 
place  was  taken  by  a  raking  black  horse  with  a 
pink  jockey,  which  ultimately  won  the  race  with 
a  length  in  hand. 

The  bulk  of  the  crowd  naturally  received  the 
defeat  of  the  favourite  without  enthusiasm,  but  a 
small  section  near  the  judge's  box  raised  a  loud 
and  continuous  yell  of  jubilation.  Evidently 
some  particular  stable  had  "known  something" 
and  kept  it  dark. 

"What  is  the  name  of  that  black  animal?"  I 
enquired  of  Dicky. 

"Malvolio." 

"Did  you  back  him?"  I  enquired  loudly. 

"  Rather ! "  yelled  Dicky.  "  Come  with  me  and 
help  me  to  collect  Hilda's  winnings  for  her.  Back 
directly,  dear!" 

"  How  many  horses  did  you  back  in  that  race?  " 
I  enquired,  as  we  elbowed  our  way  to  the  ring. 


112  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Seven,"  said  Dicky.  "Expensive  game,  exe- 
cuting commissions  for  your  best  girl  —  what?" 

"Let  us  hope  this  little  victory  will  have  the 
desired  effect,"  I  said  piously. 

"It  will  be  cheap  at  the  price,"  replied  Dicky 
with  fervour. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stand  we  found  Miss  Darner 
taking  leave  of  her  three  friends.  She  joined  us. 

"Will  you  chaperon  me  into  the  ring,  please?" 
she  asked  of  me  politely. 

I  stopped  short  and  gazed  at  her. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  said,  "that  you 
have  won  again?" 

Miss  Darner  nodded  brightly. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"You  backed  Malvolio  —  that  outsider?" 

Miss  Darner  smiled  seraphically.  "Yes." 

"And  where  did  you  get  the  tip  this  time?"  I 
enquired. 

"I  asked  the  bookmaker,"  replied  Miss  Darner 
simply.  "I  thought  he  would  know." 

"And  he  gave  you  Malvolio?" 

"Yes.  I  had  thought  of  backing  the  favourite, 
but  he  would  n't  let  me.  He  said  Malvolio  was 
*a  real  snip/  but  very  few  people  knew  about 
him.  He  was  a  kind  man.  Come  and  help  me  to 
find  him." 

We  duly  discovered  her  altruistic  friend,  who 
smiled  at  me  over  his  client's  head  in  a  resigned 


A  RELAPSE  113 

and  humorous  fashion,  as  if  to  imply  that  there 
are  occasions  upon  which  Homer  may  be  excused 
from  nodding.  "  If  this  be  Vanity,"  his  expression 
seemed  to  ask,  "who  would  be  wise?"  Who, 
indeed? 

Of  all  Constance  Darner's  achievements  in  the 
matter  of  unduly  influencing  her  fellow-creatures, 
I  hold  —  and  always  have  held  —  that  this  was 
the  greatest.  I  have  been  present  at  many  of  her 
triumphs.  I  have  seen  her  tackle  a  half -drunken 
ruffian  who  was  ill-treating  his  wife,  not  merely 
subjugating  him,  but  sending  the  pair  away 
reconciled  and  arm-in-arm;  I  have  seen  her  com- 
pel crusty  and  avaricious  old  gentlemen  to  pay 
not  only  largely,  but  cheerfully,  for  bazaar-goods 
for  which  they  could  have  had  no  possible  use, 
and  the  very  purchase  of  which  implicated  them 
in  the  furtherance  of  a  scheme  of  which  they 
heartily  disapproved;  and  I  have  seen  her  soothe 
a  delirious  child  into  peaceful  slumber  by  the 
mere  magic  of  her  touch  and  voice.  But  to  inter- 
rupt a  hard-working,  unsentimental,  starting- 
price  bookmaker  at  the  busiest  moment  of  his 
day,  for  the  purpose  of  eliciting  from  him  infor- 
mation as  to  the  right  horse  to  back,  and  to 
receive  from  him  —  a  man  whose  very  living 
depends  upon  your  backing  the  wrong  one  —  not 
merely  reliable  but  exclusive  information,  strikes 
me  as  a  record  even  for  Miss  Constance  Darner. 


114  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Presently  Dicky  rejoined  us. 

"Collected  your  winnings?"  I  enquired. 

"Yes  —  and  handed  them  over.  There  are 
only  two  runners  in  the  next  race.  Come  and 
have  a  look  at  the  merry-go-rounds.  I  know  you 
love  them,  Connie." 

Miss  Darner  admitted  the  correctness  of  this 
statement,  but  declined  to  come. 

"I  see  Lady  Adela  over  there,"  she  said  —  "all 
alone.  That 's  not  fair.  She  has  a  new  toque  on, 
too,  poor  thing!  I  will  go  and  take  her  for  a  walk 
round  the  enclosure.  You  two  can  come  back 
presently  and  give  us  tea.  If  you  discover  any- 
thing really  exciting  in  the  way  of  side-shows  I 
will  come  and  see  it  before  the  last  race." 

She  flitted  away.  Two  minutes  later  we  saw 
her,  looking  like  a  neat  little  yacht  going  for  a 
walk  with  a  Dreadnought,  carefully  convoying 
Lady  Adela  across  the  course  into  the  enclo- 
sure. 

"What  about  Miss  Beverley  and  the  others, 
Freak?"  I  asked,  as  we  turned  away. 

"Oh,  they  are  all  right,"  said  Dicky  shortly. 
"Leave  them  alone  for  a  bit  longer." 

From  which  I  gathered  that  Miss  Beverley 
was  still  suffering  from  what  is  known  in  nursery 
circles  as  "a  little  black  dog  on  her  back." 

A  large  section  of  the  crowd  evidently  shared 
our  opinion  that  the  next  race  would  be  a  tame 


A  RELAPSE  115 

affair,  for  the  merry-go-rounds  and  other  appur- 
tenances of  the  meeting  were  enjoying  abundant 
patronage  as  we  approached.  We  passed  slowly 
along  the  fairway,  where  hoarse  persons  implored 
us,  inter  alia,  to  be  photographed,  win  cocoanuts, 
and  indulge  in  three  rounds  under  Queensberry 
Rules  with  "The  Houndsditch  Terror." 

Dicky,  suddenly  throwing  off  his  low  spirits, 
won  two  cocoanuts;  insisted  upon  being  photo- 
graphed with  me  upon  the  beach  of  a  papier- 
mache  ocean,  and,  although  he  drew  the  line  at 
The  Houndsditch  Terror,  submitted  his  palm  to 
an  unclean  and  voluble  old  lady  who  desired 
to  tell  his  fortune. 

He  was  cautioned  by  the  beldame  against  a 
fair  man  with  a  black  heart  —  "That's  you,  old 
son!"  he  remarked  affectionately  to  me  —  and 
received  warning  of  impending  trouble  with  a 
dark  lady.  ("Thanks;  I  know  all  about  that," 
he  assured  her  feelingly.)  On  the  other  hand, 
he  was  promised  two  letters,  a  journey  across  the 
ocean,  and  a  quantity  of  gold  —  precise  amount 
not  specified  —  within  a  short  period  of  time. 

"You  have  a  very  peculiar  nature,"  was  the 
next  announcement.  "You  have  paid  attention 
to  many  ladies,  but  you  have  never  really  loved 
any  of  them.  Your  heart  — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  have  loved  them  all!" 
replied  The  Freak  emphatically. 


116  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Don't  be  angry  with  Gipsy,  pretty  gentle- 
man!" pleaded  the  aged  Sibyl.  "Gipsy  knows 
best.  Gipsy  only  says  what  she  reads  in  the  hand. 
So  —  but  what  is  this?"  She  bent  closer.  "Ah! 
Very  soon,  sir,  you  will  meet  the  lady  of  your 
dreams,  and  you  will  love  her  as  you  have  never 
loved  before." 

"No,  really?"  exclaimed  Dicky,  deeply  inter- 
ested. "Tell  me,  shall  I  marry  her?" 

"  Many  difficulties  and  obstacles  will  be  placed 
in  your  path,"  chanted  the  prophetess.  "You 
will  be  misunderstood;  you  will  have  to  deal 
with  peculiar  people.  Many  times  you  will  be 
tempted  to  give  up  in  despair.  But  persevere, 
and  you  will  triumph  in  the  end.  Now,  gentle- 
man, cross  Gipsy's  palm  with  silver — " 

Here  high  prophetic  frenzy  tailed  off  into  una- 
bashed mendicancy,  and  the  interview  dropped 
to  a  purely  commercial  level.  My  attention  wan- 
dered. Not  far  away  a  ring  of  people  had  col- 
lected round  some  fresh  object  of  interest.  I 
could  hear  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice  singing, 
and  the  thrumming  of  a  harp.  I  could  even 
distinguish  the  air.  A  fresh  number  was  just 
beginning.  It  was  "Annie  Laurie"  —  the  most 
beautiful  love-song,  in  my  humble  opinion,  ever 
written. 

"Maxwellton's  braes  are  bonny, 
Where  early  falls  the  dew  — " 


A  RELAPSE  117 

Then  the  voice  quavered  and  ceased,  and  I 
found  myself  wondering  what  had  happened. 

"And  now,  would  the  other  handsome  gentle- 
man like  to  show  his  palm  to  Gipsy?"  enquired 
an  ingratiating  croak  at  my  side. 

Realising  with  difficulty  that  I  was  the  indi- 
vidual referred  to,  I  turned,  to  find  that  our  aged 
friend,  having  satisfactorily  arranged  Dicky's 
future,  was  now  soliciting  my  patronage. 

"No,  thanks,"  I  replied.  " Come  and  see  what 
is  going  on  over  there,  Freak." 

"Ah,  but  Gipsy  will  tell  the  gentleman  oZZ," 
promised  the  old  lady.  "He  has  a  wicked  eye," 
she  added,  alluringly  but  incorrectly. 

We  escaped  at  last,  at  a  price,  and  presently 
found  ourselves  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  little 
crowd  which  I  have  already  mentioned. 

"What  is  going  on  inside  here?"  enquired 
Dicky  of  his  nearest  neighbour. 

"Gel  singin*  to  the  *arp,"  replied  the  gentle- 
man addressed.  He  supplemented  this  informa- 
tion by  adding  that  the  lady  was  no  class,  and 
had  a  nasty  cough. 

He  was  right.  As  he  spoke,  the  voice  of  the 
singer  broke  again,  and  we  could  hear  the  sound 
of  a  spasm  of  coughingt 

We  elbowed  our  way  into  the  crowd,  which 
had  grown  with  the  easy  facility  of  all  race- 
course crowds  into  quite  an  assemblage;  and 


118  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

presently  found  ourselves  in  the  inmost  ring  of 
spectators. 

In  the  centre  of  the  ring  sat  an  old  man  on  a 
camp-stool,  cuddling  a  big  battered  harp  to  his 
shoulder.  Beside  him  stood  a  tall  tired-looking 
woman,  very  handsome  in  a  tawdry  fashion,  of 
about  thirty-five.  She  was  dressed  as  a  Pierrette. 
Her  right  hand  rested  upon  the  old  man's 
shoulder,  her  left  was  pressed  hard  against  her 
chest.  She  was  coughing  violently,  and  her 
accompanist's  hands  lay  patiently  idle  in  his  lap 
until  she  should  be  ready  to  continue.  On  the 
grass  beside  the  old  man  sat  a  hollow-eyed  little 
boy,  also  in  regulation  Pierrot  costume. 

I  heard  Dicky  draw  his  breath  sharply.  Don 
Quixote  was  astir  again. 

Presently  the  singer  recovered,  stood  bravely 
erect,  and  prepared  herself  for  another  effort. 
The  old  man's  hands  swept  over  the  strings,  and 
the  harp  emitted  a  gentle  arpeggio. 

"Like  dew  on  the  gowans  lying 

Is  the  fall  of  her  fairy  feet, 
And  like  winds  hi  summer  sighing 

Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet. 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet, 

And  she's  all  the  world  to  me; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie  — " 

The  song  floated  up  into  the  blue  summer  sky, 
carrying  me  with  it  —  possibly  in  pursuit  of  the 


A  RELAPSE  119 

fairy  feet  (for  which  I  had  already  found  an 
owner).  Exposure,  rough  usage,  mayhap  gin- 
and -water — all  these  had  robbed  the  singer's 
notes  of  something  of  their  pristine  freshness; 
but  they  rang  out  pure  and  limpid  for  all  that. 
It  was  a  trained  voice,  and  must  once  have  been 
a  great  voice.  The  crowd  stood  absolutely  still. 
Never  have  I  beheld  a  more  attentive  audience. 

"Grand  opera,  once,"  said  Dicky's  voice  softly 
in  my  ear.  Then  —  "Oh,  you  poor  thing!" 

I  recalled  my  thoughts  from  their  sentimental 
journey,  to  realise  that  the  verse  had  broken  off 
before  the  end  and  that  the  woman  was  once 
more  in  the  throes  of  another  attack  of  coughing, 
the  black  pompoms  on  her  little  white  clown  cap 
vibrating  with  every  spasm.  Impatient  specta- 
tors began  to  drift  away. 

I  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  movement  beside 
me,  and  Dicky's  voice  exclaimed,  in  the  hoarse 
whisper  which  I  knew  he  reserved  for  conversa- 
tions with  himself:  — 

"Goon!  Be  a  man!" 

Next  moment  he  had  left  my  side  and  was 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  ring,  addressing  the 
crowd.  He  was  quite  cool  and  self-possessed, 
but  I  saw  his  fingers  curling  and  uncurling. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  he  shouted. 

"Git  out  of  the  ring,  Elbert!"  suggested  a 
voice,  not  unkindly. 


120  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

But  The  Freak  continued: — 

"I  know  we  all  sympathise  with  the  plucky 
attempt  this  lady  is  making  to  entertain  us  under 
very  difficult  circumstances." 

The  crowd,  suspicious  of  a  hoax  of  some  kind, 
surveyed  him  dumbly. 

"I  am  sure,"  Dicky  went  on,  "you  will  agree 
with  me  that  with  such  a  bad  cough  our  enter- 
tainer has  no  right  to  be  working  so  hard  this  af- 
ternoon ;  and  I  therefore  propose,  with  your  kind 
permission,  in  order  that  she  may  have  a  rest  and 
get  her  voice  back,  to  sing  you  one  or  two  songs 
myself.  I  can't  sing  for  toffee;  but  I  will  do  my 
best,  and  I  know  that  you,  being  sportsmen  all, 
will  'assist  me  by  singing  the  choruses ! " 

He  took  off  his  hat,  bowed  genially,  and  turned 
to  the  harpist.  There  was  a  buzz  of  appreciation 
and  anticipation  among  the  crowd.  Evidently 
Dicky  had  touched  the  right  note  when  he  ap- 
pealed to  them  as  sportsmen. 

"Can  you  vamp  a  few  chords,  do  you  think?" 
I  heard  him  say  to  the  accompanist. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  quickly.  "Go 
on:  I'll  follow  you." 

The  tired  woman  sank  down  upon  the  tram- 
pled grass  beside  the  little  boy;  The  Freak,  hat  in 
hand,  struck  an  attitude;  and  the  entertainment 
began. 

I  do  not  know  how  many  songs  he  sang.  He 


A  RELAPSE  121 

passed  from  one  to  another  with  amazing  facility, 
discoursing  between  the  verses  upon  topics  well 
suited  to  the  taste  and  comprehension  of  his  audi- 
ence. His  songs  were  not  new,  and  the  tales  that 
he  told  were  neither  true  nor  relevant;  but  they 
served  their  purpose.  He  uplifted  his  voice  and 
carried  us  all  off  our  feet.  He  conducted  us  over 
the  whole  of  that  field  of  Music  Hall  humour 
which  is  confined  within  the  following  limits :  — 

(1)  Alcoholic  excess. 

(2)  Personal  deformity  (e.g.,  Policemen's  feet). 

(3)  Conjugal  infelicity;  with  which  is  incor- 
porated Mothers-in-law. 

(4)  Studies  of  insect  life  (e.g. ,  Seaside  lodgings) . 

(5)  Exaggerated     metaphor     (e.g.,     "Giddy 
kipper"). 

He  enlarged  upon  all  these,  and  illuminated 
each.  He  was  unspeakably  vulgar,  and  irresisti- 
bly amusing.  The  crowd  took  him  to  their 
bosoms.  They  roared  at  his  gags;  they  sang  his 
choruses;  they  clamoured  for  more. 

I  shouted  with  the  rest.  This  was  the  real 
Dicky  Mainwaring  —  the  unregenerate,  unre- 
strained Freak  of  our  undergraduate  days  —  my 
friend  given  back  to  me  in  his  right  mind  after  a 
lamentable  period  of  eclipse.  My  heart  swelled 
foolishly. 

"Chorus  once  more,  please,  gentlemen!" 
shouted  Dicky.  "Last  time ! " 


122  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  refined  and  elevating  paean  rolled  forth, 
Dicky  conducting:  — 

"Beer,  Beer,  glorious  Beer! 
Fill  yourself  right  up  to  here! 

(Illustrative  gesture.) 
Take  a  good  deal  of  it, 
Make  a  good  meal  of  it — " 

With  head  thrown  back  and  mouth  wide  open, 
I  shouted  with  the  rest  —  and  —  caught  the  eye 
of  Miss  Hilda  Beverley!  She  was  standing  ex- 
actly opposite  to  me  on  the  other  side  of  the  circle. 
Next  moment  she  was  gone. 


It  was  the  accompanist  who  gave  in  first.  For 
nearly  hah*  an  hour  his  aged  but  nimble  fingers 
had  followed  the  singer's  most  extravagant 
flights,  and  he  now  began  obviously  to  falter. 

Dicky  seized  this  opportunity  to  conclude  his 
performance. 

"That  is  all,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  flour- 
ish of  his  hat.  "I  know  no  more.  Thank  you  for 
your  kind  attention  and  assistance.  But  don't  go 
away.  I  am  going  to  ask  the  Colonel  here  to 
carry  his  hat  round." 

He  signalled  to  the  small  pale-faced  boy  to 
take  up  a  collection,  but  the  child  hung  back 
shyly.  Evidently  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
enthusiastic  audiences.  Dicky  accordingly  bor- 


CHORUS   ONCE   MORE,    PLEASE,    GENTLEMEN!" 


A  RELAPSE  123 

rowed  his  cone-shaped  headpiece  and  set  to  work 
himself. 

Touch  your  neighbour's  heart,  and  his  pocket 
is  at  your  mercy.  The  bell  was  ringing  for  the 
last  race,  but  not  a  man  in  that  crowd  stirred 
until  he  had  contributed  to  Dicky's  collection. 
Silver  and  copper  rained  into  the  cap.  I  saw  one 
sturdy  old  farmer  clap  Dicky  upon  the  shoulder 
with  a  "Good  lad!  good  lad!"  and  drop  in  half-a- 
crown. 

Then  the  audience  melted  away  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  collected,  and  we  five  were  left  —  Dicky, 
myself,  the  old  man,  his  daughter,  and  the  re- 
cently gazetted  Colonel.  The  daughter  still  sat 
limply  upon  the  grass.  Dicky  crossed  over  to 
her  and  emptied  the  collection  into  her  lap. 

"  You  had  better  tie  that  up  in  a  handkerchief," 
he  said.  He  spoke  awkwardly.  He  was  no  longer 
an  inspired  comedian  —  only  a  shy  and  self- 
conscious  schoolboy.  My  thoughts  flew  back  to  a 
somewhat  similar  scene  in  a  third-class  carriage 
on  the  Great  Eastern  Railway  many  years 
before. 

The  woman  was  crying  softly.  Her  tears  — 
those  blessed  faith-restoring  tears  that  come  to 
people  who  encounter  kindness  when  they 
thought  that  the  world  held  no  more  for  them  — 
dropped  one  by  one  upon  the  pile  of  coins  in  her 
lap.  She  caught  Dicky's  hand,  and  clung  to 


124  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

it.  The  Freak  cleared  his  throat  in  a  distressing 
manner,  but  said  nothing.  Far  away  we  could 
hear  the  roar  of  the  crowd,  watching  the  last 
race. 

"I  must  be  going  now,"  said  Dicky  at  length. 
"I  hope  you  will  soon  get  rid  of  your  cough  and 
have  good  luck  again.  We  all  get  under  the 
weather  sometimes,  don't  we?  Good-bye!  Good- 
bye, Colonel!" 

The  officer  addressed  fixed  round  and  wonder- 
ing eyes  upon  the  eccentric  stranger,  but  made  no 
remark. 

"Good-bye,  sir,"  said  the  woman.   "God  — " 

Dicky  released  his  hand  gently  and  turned 
deferentially  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  still 
sitting  patiently  at  his  harp. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  he  said,  speaking 
like  a  polite  undergraduate  to  an  aged  don  who 
has  just  entertained  him  to  dinner,  "for  your 
splendid  accompaniments.  I  can't  imagine  how 
you  contrived  to  follow  me  as  you  did.  I'm  a 
pretty  erratic  performer,  I  'm  afraid.  Good-bye ! " 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

The  old  man  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  gave  a 
little  old-fashioned  bow,  but  disregarded  Dicky's 
proffered  hand. 

"Good-bye,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  thank  you 
kindly  for  what  you  have  done  for  us." 

"  Would  you  mind  putting  your  hand  in  his, 


A  RELAPSE  125 

sir?"  said  the  woman  to  Dicky.  "He  can't  see 
it.  He's  blind,"  she  added  apologetically. 

Five  minutes  later  we  found  ourselves  back 
at  the  railings.  The  motor  was  already  purring, 
and  Romulus  and  Remus  had  been  put  into  the 
victoria. 

Miss  Darner  hastened  up  to  us.  Her  brown 
eyes  looked  very  soft. 

I  "Dicky  dear,"  she  said  tremulously,  "we  all 
saw  you,  and  I  think  you  are  a  brick.  But  keep 
away  from  Hilda  for  a  bit." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   ONLY  WAY   OUT 

THE  ladies,  pleading  fatigue  after  their  long 
day,  retired  early,  bringing  a  somewhat  oppres- 
sive evening  to  a  timely  conclusion.  Dinner  had 
been  a  constrained  function,  for  Miss  Beverley's 
aloofness  had  cast  a  gloom  upon  the  spirits  of  her 
fiance,  and  the  rest  of  us  had  joined  with  him  in  a 
sort  of  sympathetic  melancholy.  In  the  drawing- 
room  afterwards  Mr.  Crick,  whose  ebullient  soul 
chafed  beneath  what  he  termed  "compulsory 
hump,"  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  treated  us  to  a 
musical  sketch,  —  something  humorous  but  lin- 
gering. Whereupon  Lady  Adela  awoke  out  of 
her  sleep,  and  with  a  disregard  for  the  performer's 
feeling  that  was  almost  indecent,  cut  short  the 
entertainment  and  shepherded  her  flock  to  the 
upper  regions. 

The  four  gentlemen  adjourned  to  the  billiard- 
room.  Here  Mr.  Mainwaring  and  Crick  set  about 
a  game  of  billiards  —  fifty  up  —  at  which  the 
latter,  with  a  loftiness  of  spirit  which  his  subse- 
quent performance  entirely  failed  to  justify, 
insisted  upon  conceding  his  elderly  opponent 
twenty-five  points.  Aided  by  this  generous  sub- 


THE  ONLY  WAY  OUT  127 

sidy  and  by  the  fact  that  the  scratch  player,  in 
bringing  off  some  delicate  long  shots  into  the 
top  pocket,  more  than  once  omitted  the  formality 
of  glancing  off  one  of  the  other  balls  on  the  way, 
our  host  made  quite  surprising  progress.  His 
own  contributions  to  the  score  were  mainly  de- 
rived from  a  monotonous  but  profitable  system 
of  potting  the  white  and  leaving  his  opponent  a 
double  balk.  Indeed,  the  old  gentleman  reached 
his  points  before  Mr.  Crick  had  accomplished  a 
feat  vaguely  described  by  himself  as  "getting  the 
strength  of  the  table.*'  Mr.  Mainwaring  then 
trotted  happily  upstairs  to  bed,  followed  very 
shortly  afterwards  by  his  highly  incensed  play- 
fellow. 

As  the  door  closed,  Dicky  put  down  his  pipe 
and  turned  to  me. 

"Bill,  old  man,"  he  said,  "I  don't  of  ten  face 
facts;  but  this  time  I  admit  that  I  have  fairly 
torn  the  end  off  things." 

"You  are  in  disgrace,  my  boy,"  I  agreed. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Dicky  pondered,  and  finally  summed  up. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  up  to  Hilda's 
standard,  and  never  shall  be." 

I  rose,  and  took  my  stand  upon  that  tribunal 
beloved  of  the  Briton  —  the  hearthrug  —  and 
looked  down  upon  my  friend's  troubled  counte- 
nance. 


128  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Dicky,"  I  began,  having  blown  my  nose  ner- 
vously, "you  and  I  don't  usually  go  deeply  into 
these  matters  together;  but  —  do  you  love  that 

girl?" 

We  two  regarded  one  another  deliberately  for  a 
minute,  and  then  Dicky  shook  his  head. 

"I  do  not,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Not  more,  that  is, 
than  I  love  half  a  dozen  others.  I  suppose  the 
truth  is,"  he  continued,  relighting  his  pipe,  "  that 
I  don't  quite  realise  the  meaning  of  the  word  — 
yet.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  big  thing  will  come 
to  me;  but  until  it  does  and  wipes  out  everything 
else,  I  shall  go  on  imagining,  as  at  present,  that 
I  am  in  love  with  every  girl  who  happens  to 
attract  me  or  whom  I  happen  to  attract  — if  such 
a  thing  is  possible.  Nature,  I  suppose  —  just 
Nature!  Just  now  I  am  making  the  instinctive 
involuntary  experiments  that  every  man  must 
make,  and  go  on  making,  until  he  encounters  his 
right  mate.  Some  men,  I  imagine,  are  luckier 
than  others.  They  are  not  inflammable.  They 
do  not  make  false  starts  or  get  down  blind  alleys. 
I  believe  you  are  one,  Tiny,  but  there  are  not 
many.  With  women,  I  believe,  it  is  different. 
They  have  more  intuition  than  men,  and  can  tell 
almost  immediately  whether  they  have  found  the 
goods  this  time  or  not.  But  the  average  man  must 
just  go  blundering  on,  making  an  ass  of  himself, 
and  learning  by  experience.  I  fall  into  love  read- 


THE  ONLY  WAY  OUT  129 

ily  enough,  but  have  never  been  able  to  stay 
there.  That  is  my  trouble.  I  am  therefore  forced 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  have  never  really  been  in 
love  at  all." 

"That  is  because  you  have  never  met  the  girl, 
Freak." 

"Possibly;  but  there  is  another  explanation, 
and  that  is  that  I  am  incapable  of  a  sustained 
affection  under  any  circumstances  whatever. 
However,  you  may  take  it  from  me  that  such  is 
not  the  case.  I  know  that.  I  can't  explain  it  or 
prove  it,  but  I  know  it.  What  I  really  want  — 
but  I  have  n't  met  one  so  far  — is  a  girl  who  will 
fall  in  love  with  me,  and  show  it  —  show  that  she 
is  willing  to  burn  her  boats  for  me.  A  good  many 
young  women,  estimable  creatures,  have  indi- 
cated that  they  care  for  me  a  little,  but  not  one 
has  done  it  in  the  way  I  have  described.  I  don't 
believe  that  I  could  ever  really  throw  myself 
absolutely  headlong  into  love  with  a  girl  unless  I 
knew  in  my  heart  that  she  was  prepared  to  do 
the  same  for  me.  They  are  all  so  cautious,  so 
self-contained,  so  blooming  independent,  nowa- 
days, that  a  man  simply  cannot  let  himself  go  on 
one  of  them  for  fear  she  should  turn  round  and 
laugh  at  him.  But  if  a  girl  once  confided  to  me 
that  she  wanted  to  entrust  herself  to  me  —  body 
and  soul,  for  better,  for  worse,  and  so  on  —  with- 
out any  present-day  stipulations  about  maintain- 


130  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ing  her  independence  and  preserving  her  individ- 
uality, and  stuff  of  that  kind  —  well,  good-bye 
to  all  indecision  or  uncertainty  on  my  part! 
What  man  who  called  himself  a  man  could  resist 
such  an  appeal  as  that  —  a  genuine  whole-hearted 
appeal  from  weakness  to  strength?  (Not  that  I 
am  exactly  a  model  of  strength,"  he  commented, 
with  a  disarming  smile;  "  but  I  know  I  soon  should 
be,  if  such  an  honour  were  done  me.)  Weakness 
to  strength !  That 's  what  it  comes  to  in  the  end, 
old  man,  whatever  the  modern  advanced  female 
may  say.  Male  and  female  created  He  them  — 
eh?  When  I  do  meet  that  girl  —  perhaps  she 
is  the  girl  the  old  gipsy  foretold  for  me  to-day 
—  I  shall  love  her,  and  slave  for  her,  and  fight 
for  her,  so  long  as  we  both  live,  just  because  she 
is  so  utterly  dependent  on  me.  That  is  what 
brings  out  the  best  in  a  man.  Unfortunately,  I 
have  not  yet  met  her.  When  I  do  you  may  take 
it  from  me  that  I  shall  cease  to  be  a  Freak.  Amen ! 
Here  endeth  the  First  Lesson.  There  will  be  no 
collection." 

His  discourse  thus  characteristically  concluded, 
my  friend  sat  silent  and  pensive. 

This  was  quite  a  new  Dicky  to  me. 

:<  You  appear  to  have  studied  the  question  deeply 
and  scientifically,"  I  said,  frankly  impressed. 

"My  lad,"  replied  Dicky  with  feeling,  "if  you 
possessed  a  disposition  as  flighty  as  mine  — " 


THE  ONLY  WAY  OUT  131 

"Quixotic,"  I  amended. 

"All  right  —  as  quixotic  as  mine,  and  were  also 
blessed  with  a  dear  old  mother  who  spent  her  life 
confronting  you  with  attractive  young  women 
with  a  view  to  matrimony,  you  would  begin  to 
study  the  question  deeply  and  scientifically  too. 
I  am  only  a  Freak,  and  all  that,  but  I  don't  want 
to  make  a  mess  of  a  girl's  life  if  I  can  help  it; 
and  that,  old  friend,  owing  to  my  susceptible 
nature  and  gentle  maternal  pressure  from  the 
rear,  is  exactly  what  I  am  in  great  danger  of 
doing.  I  have  had  to  mark  time  pretty  resolutely 
of  late,  I  can  tell  you.  And  that  brings  us  to  the 
matter  in  hand.  Hilda  and  I  seem  to  have 
reached  the  end  of  our  tether.  Something  has  got 
to  be  done." 

"It  is  just  possible,"  I  said,  "that  Miss  Bever- 
ley  has  done  it  already." 

"What?" 

"  It  —  the  only  thing  that  ought  to  be  done." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"When  the  others  went  upstairs  to  bed  Miss 
Hilda  retired  into  an  inner  drawing-room  and 
sat  down  at  a  writing-table.  There  is  no  post  out 
of  here  until  lunch-time  to-morrow.  Therefore 
she  was  probably  writing  to  some  one  in  the 
house." 

Dicky  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"Proceed,  Sherlock,"  he  said. 


132  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"To  whom  was  she  writing?"  I  enquired. 

Dicky  thought. 

"To  me,"  he  announced  at  length.  "Eco- 
nomical hobby.  No  stamps  required.  Well?" 

"Supposing,"  I  continued,  "that  Miss  Bev- 
erley  has  been  writing  to  you  to-night  —  what 
then?" 

"I  shall  receive  a  letter  from  her  in  the  morn- 
ing," concluded  Dicky.  "Eh?  Wrong  answer? 
Sorry!  What  will  happen,  then?" 

"You  will  get  your  letter  to-night." 

Dicky  looked  doubtful. 

"Where?  When?"  he  asked. 

"That's  it.  Where  and  when?" 

Dicky  pondered. 

"On  my  pin-cushion,  when  I  go  upstairs  to 
bed,"  he  said  at  last  —  "  although  it  strikes  me  as 
a  most  unmaidenly  action  for  Hilda." 

"So  unmaidenly,"  I  replied,  "that  you  will 
probably  find  the  letter  on  the  hall  table  by  your 
candle.  Come  and  see." 

My  faith  in  Miss  Beverley's  sense  of  propriety 
was  fully  justified,  for  we  found  the  letter  in  the 
hall  beside  the  candlesticks  exactly  as  I  had  fore- 
told. Probably  it  had  not  lain  there  more  than 
five  minutes. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  I  enquired. 

"By  Heavens,  Holmes,"  exclaimed  Dicky, 
who  after  his  late  lofty  flight  had  characteristic- 


THE  ONLY  WAY  OUT  133 

ally  relapsed  into  one  of  his  most  imbecile  moods, 
"this  is  wonderful!" 

We  bore  the  letter  back  to  the  billiard-room. 

"Four  sheets!"  murmured  The  Freak  deject- 
edly. "  Well,  the  longer  I  look  at  them  the  less  I 
shall  like  them.  Here  goes ! " 

He  began  to  unfold  the  crackling  document. 

"What  is  that  protuberance  down  there,  be- 
tween your  finger  and  thumb?"  I  enquired.  "It 
may  epitomise  the  letter  for  you." 

Dicky  turned  the  envelope  upside  down,  and 
shook  it  over  the  billiard-table.  Something  fell 
out,  rolled  a  short  distance,  and  lay  sparkling 
and  shimmering  on  the  green  cloth. 

Dicky  picked  up  the  ring  very  slowly,  and 
regarded  it  long  and  intently.  Then  he  turned 
to  me. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said,  softly  and  quite  rever- 
ently; and  I  knew  he  spoke  less  for  himself  than 
for  a  certain  superior  young  woman  upstairs, 
who  considered  him  flippant,  lacking  in  depth, 
and  altogether  unworthy  of  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

STILL  AT  LARGE 

I  SAW  very  little  of  The  Freak  the  following 
winter.  For  one  thing,  I  went  abroad  again.  The 
Government  of  the  Auricula  Protectorate  had 
decided  to  connect  their  capital  with  the  sea  by 
means  of  a  canal.  I  happened  to  know  the  dis- 
trict, for  I  had  been  engaged  eight  years  previ- 
ously upon  the  great  dam,  thirty  miles  from 
Auricula,  which  now  holds  in  beneficent  restraint 
the  turbid  waters  of  the  Rumbolo  River.  I 
accordingly  applied  for  work  in  connection  with 
the  scheme.  By  the  greatest  luck  in  the  world  one 
Vandeleur,  C.B.,  a  magnate  of  no  small  standing 
in  the  Auricula  district,  happened  to  be  home 
on  leave.  He  had  visited  my  dam  in  his  official 
capacity,  and  had  noted  that  it  was  still  standing. 
He  spoke  the  word,  and  I  got  my  canal. 

The  next  four  months  I  spent  upon  the  conti- 
nent of  Africa,  sketching,  surveying,  and  drawing 
up  specifications.  Then  I  came  home  to  be  mar- 
ried. 

At  the  very  first  dinner-party  to  which  we  were 
bidden  on  our  return  from  our  honeymoon  I 
encountered  The  Freak. 


STILL  AT  LARGE  135 

I  saw  him  first,  so  to  speak.  Covers  had  been 
laid,  as  they  say  in  country  newspapers,  for 
twenty-two  persons.  My  wife,  through  the  oper- 
ation of  an  inscrutable  but  inexorable  law,  had 
been  reft  from  my  side,  and  was  now  periodically 
visible  through  a  maze  of  table  decorations, 
entertaining  her  host  with  what  I  could  not  help 
regarding  as  the  most  unfeeling  vivacity  and 
cheerfulness.  I  began  to  take  an  inventory  of  the 
company.  We  had  been  a  little  late  in  arriving  — 
to  be  precise,  the  last  —  and  I  had  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  my  fellow-guests.  My  own 
partner  was  a  Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  an  old 
acquaintance  of  mine.  She  combined  short  sight 
and  an  astonishingly  treacherous  memory  for 
names  and  faces  with  a  rooted  conviction  that 
the  one  infallible  sign  of  good  breeding  is  never 
to  forget  a  name  or  a  face.  ("A  truly  Royal 
attribute,"  she  had  once  announced  in  my  pres- 
ence.) I  was  therefore  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  that  she  remembered  not  merely  my  face, 
but  my  name  and  metier.  After  putting  me  at 
my  ease  with  a  few  kindly  and  encouraging  re- 
marks upon  the  subject  of  canals,  she  turned  to 
her  other  neighbour. 

"Dear  Sir  Arthur,"  I  heard  her  say,  "this  is 
indeed  a  pleasant  surprise!" 

"Dear  lady,"  replied  a  hearty  voice,  "the 
pleasure  is  entirely  mine." 


136  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

I  leaned  carelessly  forward  to  inspect  the 
menu,  and  shot  a  sidelong  glance  in  the  direction 
of  Sir  Arthur.  I  was  right.  It  was  The  Freak, 
in  his  most  acquiescent  mood.  I  wondered  what 
his  surname  was,  and  whether  he  knew  it. 

"We  had  such  a  teeny  talk  last  time  we  met," 
continued  Mrs.  Botley-Markham.  "Now  we  can 
chat  as  long  as  we  please." 

Heaving  a  gentle  sigh  of  relief,  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham's  rightful  dinner-partner  helped  himself 
to  a  double  portion  of  the  entree  and  set  to  work. 

The  chat  commenced  forthwith. 

"And  how  is  Gipsy?"  enquired  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham. 

"Gipsy,"  replied  Sir  Arthur  without  hesita- 
tion, "is  top-hole." 

"How  quaint  and  original  you  always  are  in 
your  expressions!"  cooed  my  neighbour.  "But 
I  am  so  glad  to  hear  about  Gipsy.  Then  the  dear 
thing  has  quite  recovered?" 

"Absolutely,"  replied  Dicky  courageously. 

Mrs.  Botley-Markham  cooed  again.  Then  she 
enquired,  confidentially :  — 

"Now  tell  me,  what  was  it?" 

"What  was  it?"  echoed  The  Freak  cautiously. 
"Ah!" 

('Yes;  what  was  it?"  pursued  his  interlocutor, 
much  intrigued.  "  Don't  tell  me  they  never  found 
out!" 


STILL  AT  LARGE  137 

"Never.  At  least,"  admitted  The  Freak 
guardedly,  "not  for  some  time." 

"Then  they  actually  operated  without  being 
sure?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  shud- 
dering. 

Dicky,  making  up  his  arrears  with  a  portion  of 
quail,  inclined  his  head  gravely,  and  the  quail 
reached  its  destination. 

"And  when  they  did  find  out,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Botley-Markham,  clasping  her  hands  —  she  had 
finished  her  quail  —  "what  was  it?  Tell  me, 
dear  Sir  Arthur!" 

Sir  Arthur  cogitated  for  a  moment,  and  then 
took  the  plunge. 

"It  was  clavicle,"  he  said  solemnly. 

Assuming  that  my  friend  was  labouring  under 
the  same  disadvantage  as  myself  —  namely, 
inability  to  decide  whether  Gipsy  was  a  woman, 
child,  horse,  dog,  cat,  or  monkey  —  to  invent  a 
mysterious  and  non-committal  disease  upon  the 
spur  of  the  moment  struck  me  as  quite  a  stroke 
of  genius  on  Dicky's  part.  Connie  would  enjoy 
hearing  about  this. 

"How  truly  terrible!"  said  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham,  in  an  awe-struck  voice.  "Clam  — 
clavicle  is  a  very  rare  disease,  is  it  not?" 

"Rare  and  mysterious,"  replied  my  friend  in 
the  same  tone.  "In  fact,  the  doctor  — " 

"You  mean  Sir  Herbert?" 


138  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"  No,  the  other  bio —  the  "other  gentleman  — 
the  anaesthetist,  you  know!  He  told  me  that  he 
had  never  encountered  a  case  of  it  before." 

"How  truly  terrible!"  said  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham  again.  "And  all  the  time  you  sus- 
pected appendicitis." 

The  Freak  acquiesced  readily.  Here  was  light. 
Gipsy  apparently  was  human  —  not  equine, 
canine,  feline,  or  simian. 

"And  the  little  one?"  enquired  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham  tenderly. 

I  held  my  breath.  Sir  Arthur  had  reached  his 
second  fence. 

"The  little  one,"  he  replied  after  considera- 
tion, "  is  doing  nicely.  Not  so  very  little,  though, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it,"  he  continued, 
boldly  taking  the  initiative. 

"Has  she  grown  so  big,  then?"  enquired  Mrs. 
Botley-Markham,  unconsciously  giving  away  an- 
other point.  The  little  one's  sex  was  determined. 
Certainly  it  was  an  exhilarating  game. 

"Quite  extraordinary,"  said  Dicky.  "How 
big,"  he  continued  cunningly,  "would  you 
imagine  she  was  now?" 

"Not  as  big  as  my  Babs?"  cried  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham  incredulously. 

"That,"  replied  The  Freak,  "is  just  exactly 
how  big  she  is."  There  was  the  least  tinge  of 
disappointment  in  his  voice.  Evidently  he  had 


STILL  AT  LARGE  139 

hoped  for  something  more  tangible.  For  pur- 
poses of  mensuration  Babs  was  useless  to  him. 

"Why  'just  exactly'?"  enquired  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham  doubtfully.  "You  are  very  precise 
about  it." 

"We  met  Babs  in  the  Park  the  other  day," 
replied  the  audacious  Dicky,  "and  compared 
them." 

Mrs.  Botley-Markham  frankly  gaped. 

"But,  dear  Sir  Arthur,"  she  exclaimed  — 
"How?" 

"How  does  one  compare  —  er  —  little  ones?" 
was  the  evasive  reply  of  Sir  Arthur. 

The  outraged  parent  turned  upon  him. 

"You  mean  to  say  you  laid  those  two  inno- 
cents side  by  side  upon  the  wet  grass,"  she  gasped, 
"and—" 

"It  was  nearly  dry,"  said  Dicky  soothingly. 

I  choked  noisily,  for  I  was  rapidly  losing  self- 
control;  but  neither  of  the  performers  in  the 
duologue  took  the  slightest  notice  of  me. 

"I  shall  speak  to  my  nurse  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," announced  Mrs.  Botley-Markham  firmly. 
"  I  cannot  imagine  what  she  was  thinking  about." 

"Don't  be  hard  on  her,"  begged  Dicky.  "It 
was  my  fault  entirely." 

"  It  certainly  was  very  naughty  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  already  relenting,  "but  I 
forgive  you  —  there!"  She  tapped  the  eccentric 


140  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Sir  Arthur  playfully  upon  the  arm.  "Tell  me, 
though,  what  does  Gwladys  weigh  ?  Mere  bigness 
in  children  is  so  often  deceptive." 

Even  assuming  that  Gwladys  was  also  the 
Little  One,  it  was  obvious  that  Dicky  had  not  yet 
cleared  his  second  fence.  I  began  vaguely  to  cal- 
culate what  a  healthy  child  should  weigh.  A 
thirty-pound  salmon,  for  instance  —  how  would 
that  compare  with  a  fat  baby?  But  Dicky  made 
a  final  and  really  brilliant  effort. 

"Fourteen  point  eight,"  he  said  promptly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  replied  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham. 

"Fourteen  point  eight  cubic  centimetres," 
repeated  The  Freak  in  a  firm  voice.  "That  is  the 
metric  system  of  weights  and  measures.  It  is  the 
only  accurate  and  scientific  method.  All  the  big 
doctors  have  taken  to  it,  you  will  find.  I  never 
allow  any  other  to  be  employed  where  Gwladys 
is  concerned.  I  strongly  advise  you,"  he  added 
earnestly,  "to  have  Babs  weighed  in  the  same 
manner.  Everybody's  doing  it  now,"  he  con- 
cluded lyrically. 

Mrs.  Botley-Markham  quivered  with  pleasure. 
An  opportunity  of  getting  ahead  of  the  fashion 
does  not  occur  to  us  every  day. 

"I  will  certainly  take  your  advice,  dear  Sir 
Arthur,"  she  replied.  "Tell  me,  where  does  one 
get  it  done?" 


STILL  AT  LARGE  141 

"At  the  British  Museum,  between  seven  and 
eight  in  the  morning,"  replied  The  Freak,  whose 
pheasant  was  growing  cold.  "And  now,  dear 
lady,  tell  me  everything  that  you  have  been  doing 
lately." 

Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  being  nothing  loath, 
launched  forth.  She  even  found  time  to  re-include 
me  in  the  conversation,  disturbing  my  meditations 
upon  the  strenuous  awakening  which  awaited  poor 
Babs  upon  the  morrow  with  an  enquiry  as  to 
whether  my  canal  was  to  contain  salt  water  or 
fresh.  But  she  had  not  finished  with  Dicky  yet. 
Suddenly  she  turned  upon  him,  and  remarked 
point-blank:  — 

"  How  pleased  the  Stan  tons  will  be ! " 

"Indeed,  yes!"  replied  The  Freak  enthusiasti- 
cally. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  I  trembled.  We  had 
reached  the  dessert,  and  with  port  in  sight,  so  to 
speak,  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what  foolishness 
he  might  not  commit. 

"  In  fact,"  he  continued  shamelessly,  "I  happen 
to  know  that  they  are  not  merely  pleased  but 
ecstatic.  I  saw  them  yesterday." 

"Where?"  asked  Mrs.  Botley-Markham. 

"Dear  lady,"  replied  Dicky,  smiling,  "where 
does  one  invariably  meet  the  Stan  tons?" 

"You  mean  at  the  Archdeacon's?"  said  Mrs. 
Botley-Markham. 


142  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"I  do,"  said  my  reprobate  friend.  "They  had 
all  been  down  the  Str  —  I  mean  to  the  Pan- 
Mesopotamian  Conference,'*  he  added  quite 
gratuitously. 

"Ah,  of  course;  they  would,"  assented  Mrs. 
Botley-Markham  hazily,  evidently  wondering 
whether  she  ought  to  have  heard  of  the  Pan- 
Mesopotamian  Conference.  "Were  they  all 
there?" 

"All  but  the  delicate  one,"  replied  The  Freak, 
abandoning  all  restraint. 

"Do  you  mean  Isobel?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  graceless  Richard —  "I  do. 
Poor  Isobel!"  he  added  gently. 

"I  am  afraid  they  are  not  a  strong  family," 
said  Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  with  a  sympathetic 
glance  which  rather  alarmed  me.  I  foresaw  com- 
plications. 

The  Freak  wagged  his  head  gloomily. 

"No;  a  weak  strain,  I  fear." 

"I  hope — I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Botley-Markham, 
evidently  choosing  her  words  with  care  and  tact, 
"that  the  weakness  does  not  extend  to  Gipsy." 

Then  Gipsy  was  connected  with  the  Stantons ! 
Freak  would  have  to  walk  warily.  But  at  this 
moment  his  attention  was  wandering  in  the  direc- 
tion of  our  hostess,  who  was  beginning  to  exhibit 
symptoms  of  upheaval  with  a  view  to  with- 
drawal. He  replied  carelessly :  — 


STILL  AT  LARGE  143 

"No.  Why  should  it?" 

Mrs.  Botley-Markham,  a  little  offended  and 
flustered  at  being  taken  up  so  sharply,  replied 
with  exaggerated  humility :  — 

"I  only  meant,  dear  Sir  Arthur,  that  if  one 
sister  is  delicate,  possibly  another  may  be  slightly 
inclined  — " 

Then  Isobel  and  Gipsy  were  sisters.  I  knew  it ! 

At  this  moment  the  hostess  gave  the  mystic 
sign,  and  the  company  rose.  Freak  turned  a  sad 
and  slightly  reproachful  gaze  upon  Mrs.  Botley- 
Markham. 

"You  are  forgetting,  dear  lady,"  he  said  gently. 
"Isobel  and  Gipsy  are  not  related.  Isobel  was 
the  sister  of  my  poor  first  wife." 

He  drew  back  Mrs.  Botley-Markham's  chair 
with  grave  courtesy,  and  that  afflicted  lady 
tottered  down  the  room  and  out  of  the  door, 
looking  like  the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa. 

The  Freak  and  I  resumed  our  seats. 

"Dear  Sir  Arthur,"  I  said,  "are  you  a  knight 
or  a  baronet  ?" 

Before  this  point  of  precedence  could  be 
settled,  our  host  called  to  us  to  move  up  higher. 

"  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Sir  Arthur  Twigg, 
Mainwaring,"  he  said,  indicating  a  pleasant- 
looking  youth  strongly  resembling  Dicky  in 
appearance  and  bearing. 


144  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Come  to  lunch  with  me  to-morrow,  Tiny," 
said  Dicky  hurriedly  to  me. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  heard  him  regretfully 
explaining  to  his  host  that  an  important  legal 
consultation  in  his  chambers  at  ten  o'clock  that 
evening  would  prevent  him  from  joining  the 
ladies  afterwards  in  the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   FIRST   TURNING   TO   THE   RIGHT 

NEXT  day  I  lunched  with  The  Freak  in  Hall  in 
the  Inner  Temple,  where  I  was  introduced  by  my 
host  to  the  surrounding  company  as  a  "distin- 
guished engineer,  who  had  dammed  the  Nile 
several  times  and  was  now  prepared  to  speak 
disrespectfully  of  the  Equator." 

After  luncheon  Dicky  suggested  that  I  should 
walk  round  with  him  to  his  chambers  in  Bolton 
Street.  It  was  a  murky  December  afternoon. 
Christmas  shopping  had  set  in  with  its  usual 
severity,  and  visitors  from  the  country,  armed 
with  sharp-cornered  parcels,  surged  tumultu- 
ously  along  the  wrong  side  of  every  pavement, 
while  the  ordinary  citizens  of  London  trudged 
resignedly  in  the  gutter. 

Dicky,  quite  undisturbed  by  the  press,  con- 
tinued the  conversation. 

"Yes,  the  family  are  all  very  fit,"  he  said. 
"You  must  come  and  stay  with  us.  I  shall  give 
myself  a  week's  holiday  at  Christmas  and  take 
you  and  Connie  down  to  Shotley  Beauchamp, 
and  we  will  have  a  pop  at  Ethelbert,  our  pheas- 
ant, and  discuss  the  days  that  are  no  more." 


146  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Talking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more,"  I 
began,  stepping  aside  to  avoid  a  stout  lady  carry- 
ing an  inverted  baby  under  one  arm  and  an  im- 
perfectly draped  rocking-horse  under  the  other, 
"what  has  become  — " 

"Hilda  Beverley  —  eh?"  replied  Dicky  cheer- 
fully. "  I '11  tell  you  all  about  her.  (Don't  apolo- 
gise, sir,  really !  After  all,  I  still  have  an  eye  left, 
and  you  very  nearly  lost  your  umbrella.)  She 
is  engaged,  if  not  married,  to  an  Oxford  Don.  I 
believe  they  are  very  happy.  They  go  out  and 
sing  an  ode  to  Apollo  every  morning  before 
breakfast,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

A  wedge  of  excursionists  clove  its  way  between 
us,  and  it  was  with  a  voice  unconsciously  raised 
that  I  remarked  from  the  gutter:  — 

"You  had  an  escape  that  time,  my  lad." 

"Not  at  all!"  yelled  Dicky  loyally  from  the 
other  side  of  the  pavement.  ("Mind  that  kid- 
die's balloon,  old  son!)  No,"  he  continued,  as  we 
converged  once  more,  "I  had  a  very  profitable 
six  months.  Hilda  took  immense  pains  with  me, 
and  it  was  n't  her  fault  that  I  turned  out  a 
failure." 

-  Presently  I  asked  a  question  which  always 
rose  to  my  lips  when  I  met  Dicky  after  any  con- 
siderable interval. 

"Have  your  family  any  fresh  matrimonial 
irons  in  the  fire  for  you  at  present?  "  I  enquired. 


FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    147 

V 

"No,"  replied  my  friend,  "I  rejoice  to  say 
they  have  not.  The  market  is  utterly  flat.  The 
Hilda  Beverley  slump  knocked  the  bottom  out  of 
everything,  and  for  the  last  half-year  I  have  been 
living  a  life  of  perfect  peace.  I  am  settling  down 
to  a  contented  spinsterhood,"  he  added,  to  the 
obvious  surprise  and  consternation  of  a  grim- 
looking  female  in  a  blue  mackintosh  who  had 
become  wedged  between  us.  "In  a  few  years  I 
shall  get  a  tabby  cat  and  a  sampler,  and  retire  to 
end  my  days  in  the  close  of  some  quiet  cathedral 
city." 

The  female  in  the  mackintosh,  by  dint  of  using 
her  elbows  as  levers  and  our  waistcoats  as 
fulcrums,  heaved  herself  convulsively  out  of  our 
company  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd,  probably 
in  search  of  police  protection.  Dicky  and  I  came 
together  again. 

"Occasionally,"  he  continued  fraternally,  "I 
shall  come  and  stay  with  you  and  Connie,  and 
give  you  advice  as  to  —  Bill !  Tiny !  My  son 
William !  Look  at  that  girl's  face !  Did  you  catch 
her  profile?  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  lovely 
in  all  your  life?" 

We  had  reached  that  spot  in  the  narrowest 
part  of  Piccadilly  where  all  the  omnibuses  in  the 
world  seem  to  stop  to  take  up  passengers.  Dicky's 
fingers  had  closed  round  my  left  biceps  muscle 
with  a  grip  like  iron.  I  turned  and  surveyed  him. 


148  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

His  cheery  good-tempered  face  was  transfigured: 
his  eyes  blazed. 

"Look!"  he  said  again,  pointing.  He  was 
trembling  like  a  nervous  schoolgirl. 

But  I  was  just  too  late.  All  I  saw  was  a  trim 
lithe  young  figure  —  rather  like  Connie's,  I 
thought  —  stepping  on  to  an  omnibus.  (When  I 
told  the  story  at  home  I  was  at  once  asked  how 
she  was  dressed,  but  naturally  could  not  say.) 
I  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  slim  square  shoulders, 
a  good  deal  of  pretty  brown  hair,  and  finally  a 
pair  of  neat  black  shoes,  as  their  owner  deftly 
mounted  to  the  top  of  the  swaying  vehicle. 

"I  just  missed  her  face,  old  man,"  I  replied. 
"Was  she  pretty?" 

Here  I  stopped.  To  address  empty  air  in 
Piccadilly  for  any  length  of  time  causes  one  to 
incur  the  unworthy  suspicions  of  the  bystanders. 
It  also  causes  a  crowd  to  collect,  which  is  an  in- 
dictable offence. 

For  I  was  alone.  Afar  off,  pursuing  a  motor- 
omnibus  just  getting  into  its  top  speed,  I  beheld 
the  flying  figure  of  my  friend.  Presently  he  over- 
took the  unwieldy  object  of  his  pursuit,  hopped 
on  board,  and  proceeded  to  climb  to  the  top. 

At  this  moment  the  omnibus  reached  Bond 
Street  —  the  first  turning  to  the  right  —  swung 
round  the  corner,  and  disappeared. 


BOOK  THREE 
THE  RIGHT  ROAD 


NOTE 

THE  main  idea  of  Book  Three  was  suggested  by 
a  very  minor  episode  in  the  closing  chapters  of 
'A  Man's  Man.'  The  usual  acknowledgments 
are  therefore  made  to  the  author  of  that  work. 


CHAPTER  XH 

MICE  AND   MEN 

"SYLVIA,  is  your  father  in  from  his  walk?" 

Miss  Sylvia  Mainwaring,  attired  in  a  sage- 
green  robe  and  distressingly  rational  boots, 
turned  and  surveyed  her  male  parent's  recumbent 
form  upon  the  sofa. 

"Yes,  mother  mine,"  she  replied.  (Sylvia  was 
rather  addicted  to  little  preciosities  of  this  kind.) 

"Is  he  awake?" 

"He  is  reading  'The  Spectator,'  Mother,"  was 
the  somewhat  Delphic  response. 

"Then  ring  for  tea,  dear." 

It  was  a  bleak  Saturday  afternoon  in  late 
February.  Darkness  was  closing  in,  and  the  great 
fire  in  the  hall  at  The  Towers  flickered  lovingly 
upon  our  leading  weekly  review,  which,  tempo- 
rarily diverted  from  its  original  purpose  in  order 
to  serve  as  a  supplementary  waistcoat  for  Mr. 
Mainwaring,  rose  and  fell  with  gentle  regularity 
in  the  warm  glow. 

Mr.  Mainwaring's  daughter  rang  a  bell  and 
switched  on  the  electric  light  with  remorseless 
severity;  his  wife  came  rustling  down  the  broad 
oak  staircase;  and  Mr.  Mainwaring  himself, 


152  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

realising  that  a  further  folding  of  the  hands  to 
sleep  was  out  of  the  question,  peeled  off  "The 
Spectator"  and  sat  up. 

"Abel,"  observed  Lady  Adela — her  husband's 
baptismal  name  was  a  perpetual  thorn  in  her 
ample  flesh,  but  she  made  a  point  of  employing 
it  on  all  occasions,  as  a  sort  of  reducing  exercise  to 
her  family  pride  —  "  tea  will  be  here  in  a  moment. ' ' 

Mr.  Mainwaring  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  an 
apologetic  little  gentleman,  verging  on  sixty, 
with  a  few  wisps  of  grey  hair  brushed  carefully 
across  his  bald  head.  At  present  these  were 
hanging  down  upon  the  wrong  side,  giving  their 
owner  a  mildly  leonine  appearance.  A  kindly, 
shy,  impulsive  man,  Abel  Mainwaring  was  inva- 
riably mute  and  ill  at  ease  beneath  the  eye  of 
his  wife  and  daughter.  Their  patrician  calm 
oppressed  him;  and  his  genial  expansive  nature 
only  blossomed  in  the  presence  of  his  erratic  but 
affectionate  son. 

"Tea?"  he  exclaimed  with  mild  alacrity  — 
"Who  said  tea?" 

"Abel,"  announced  Lady  Adela  in  tones  which 
definitely  vetoed  any  further  conversational 
openings  originating  in  tea,  "I  think  it  only  right 
to  tell  you  that  a  visitor  may  arrive  at  any  mo- 
ment; and  your  present  appearance,  to  put  it 
mildly,  is  hardly  that  of  the  master  of  a  large 
household." 


MICE  AND  MEN      ,  153 

"My  dear,  I  fly!"  said  Mr.  Mainwaring 
hurriedly,  and  disappeared.  At  the  same  moment 
there  was  a  tinkle  in  the  back  premises. 

"There  goes  the  front-door  bell,"  said  Sylvia. 
"I  never  heard  the  carriage.  Can  it  be  Connie 
already?'* 

"A  caller,  probably,"  sighed  her  mother. 
"  How  tiresome  people  are.  See  who  it  is,  Milroy, 
and  then  bring  tea." 

The  butler,  who  had  entered  from  the  dining- 
room,  crossed  the  hall  to  the  curtained  alcove 
which  screened  the  front  door. 

"Hardly  a  caller  on  an  afternoon  like  this," 
said  Sylvia,  shivering  delicately.  "It  is  raining 
in  sheets." 

"My  experience,"  replied  Lady  Adela  peev- 
ishly, "has  always  been  that  when  one's  neigh- 
bours have  made  up  their  minds  to  be  thor- 
oughly annoying,  no  weather  will  stop  them." 

Simultaneously  with  this  truthful  but  gloomy 
reflection  Lady  Adela  composed  her  fine  features 
into  an  hospitable  smile  of  welcome  and  rose 
to  her  feet. 

"  Misterilands ! "  announced  Milroy,  drawing 
back  the  curtain  of  the  outer  hall. 

Lady  Adela,  still  smiling,  rolled  an  enquiring 
eye  in  the  direction  of  her  daughter. 

"New  curate!"  hissed  Sylvia. 

Through  the  curtained  archway  advanced  a 


154  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

short,  sturdy,  spectacled  young  man,  dumbly 
resisting  Mr.  Milroy's  gracious  efforts  to  relieve 
him  of  his  hat  and  stick. 

Lady  Adela  extended  her  hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Highlands?"  she  en- 
quired, as  the  ruffled  Milroy,  shaken  off  like  an 
importunate  limpet,  disappeared  into  the  dining- 
room. 

"My  name,"  replied  the  visitor  apologetically, 
"is  Rylands  —  not  Highlands." 

"How  stupid  of  me!"  said  Lady  Adela  con- 
descendingly. "  But  my  butler  is  a  most  inarticu- 
late person,  and  in  any  case  we  give  him  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt  where  H's  are  concerned." 

"It's  of  no  consequence,"  Mr.  Rylands  as- 
sured her.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!" 

He  picked  up  his  walking-stick,  which  had 
fallen  upon  the  polished  floor  with  a  shattering 
crash,  and  continued  breathlessly:  — 

"The  fact  is,  Lady  Adela,  the  Archdeacon 
asked  me  to  come  round  this  afternoon  and  warn 
Mr.  —  Mr.  — "  he  was  uncertain  of  Mr.  Main- 
waring's  exact  status  and  title,  so  decided  to 
hedge  —  "your  husband,  about  the  First  Lesson 
in  to-morrow  morning's  service.  The  Arch- 
deacon— " 

"Be  seated,  Mr.  Rylands,"  said  Lady  Adela,  in 
the  voice  which  she  reserved  for  golfers,  politi- 
cians, and  other  people  who  attempted  to  talk 


MICE  AND  MEN  155 

shop  in  her  presence.  "  My  husband  will  be  down- 
stairs presently.  This  is  my — " 

"The  Archdeacon,"  continued  the  conscien- 
tious Rylands,  "thinks  it  would  be  better  to 
substitute  an  alternative  Lesson — " 

At  this  point  his  walking-stick,  which  he  had 
after  several  efforts  succeeded  in  leaning  against 
the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece,  fell  a  second  time 
upon  the  floor,  and  a  further  hail  of  apology  fol- 
lowed. 

" — An  alternative  Lesson  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," he  resumed  pertinaciously,  "in  view  of  the 
fact  that  certain  passages  — " 

"This  is  my  daughter  Sylvia,"  said  Lady 
Adela  coldly. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ! "  exclaimed  the  curate 
to  Sylvia,  starting  up  and  dropping  his  hat.  "I 
did  n't  see  you.  My  glasses  are  rather  dimmed 
by  the  rain.  I  have  come  here,"  he  recommenced 
rapidly,  evidently  hoping  for  a  more  receptive 
auditor  this  time,  "at  the  request  of  the  Arch- 
deacon, to  see  Mr.  —  your  father  —  about  an 
alteration  in  the  First  Lesson  to-morrow  — " 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  trouble,  Mr.  Rylands," 
replied  the  dutiful  Sylvia.  "My  father  will 
probably  read  the  wrong  Lesson  in  any  case." 

"Who  is  taking  my  name  in  vain?"  enquired 
the  playful  voice  of  Mr.  Mainwaring,  as  its  owner, 
newly  kempt,  descended  the  stairs. 


156  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"This  is  Mr.  Rylands,  Abel,  who  has  recently 
come  among  us,"  said  Lady  Adela.  "To  assist 
the  Archdeacon,"  she  added,  with  feeling. 

Mr.  Mainwaring  shook  hands  with  character- 
istic friendliness. 

"Welcome  to  Shotley  Beauchamp,  Mr.  Ry- 
lands ! "  he  said  warmly. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  very  much,"  replied  the  cu- 
rate, flushing  with  pleasure.  "I  have  called,"  he 
continued  with  unabated  enthusiasm — evidently 
he  saw  port  ahead  at  last  —  "at  the  request  of 
the  Archdeacon,  with  reference  to  the  First  Les- 
son at  Matins  to-morrow.  One  of  those  rather 
characteristic  Old  Testament  passages  —  " 

"Mr.  Rylands,"  interposed  Lady  Adela,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  cannot  stand  this  sort  of  thing 
much  longer,  "how  many  lumps  of  sugar  do  you 
take?" 

"Four,  please,"  replied  Mr.  Rylands  absently, 
with  his  finger  in  Mr.  Mainwaring's  buttonhole. 

Lady  Adela's  eyebrows  rose  an  eighth  of  an 
inch. 

"Four,  did  you  say?" 

The  curate  came  suddenly  to  himself. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  cringingly,  "I 
meant  none." 

"Then  why  did  you  specify  four,  Mr.  Ry- 
lands?" enquired  Sylvia,  who  disliked  what  she 
called  "vague"  people. 


MICE  AND  MEN  157 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  explained  the  curate,  in  a 
burst  of  shy  confidence  — "  I  always  take  four 
when  I  am  alone  in  my  lodgings.  But  when  I 
go  out  to  tea  anywhere,  four  always  seems  such 
a  fearful  lot  to  ask  for,  that  —  oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon!" 

He  had  stepped  heavily  back  into  a  cake- 
stand,  and  patisserie  strewed  the  hearthrug. 

But  both  crime  and  apology  passed  unnoticed, 
for  at  this  moment  Milroy,  who  had  crossed  the 
hall  a  minute  previously,  reappeared  at  the  cur- 
tained entrance,  and  announced,  in  tones  of 
intense  personal  satisfaction:  — 

"Mrs.  Carmyle!" 

Even  the  female  Mainwarings  had  no  eyes  for 
any  one  else  when  Connie  Carmyle  entered  a 
room. 

During  the  melee  of  greetings  and  embraces 
which  ensued,  Mr.  Rylands,  blessing  the  small 
deity  who  had  descended  to  his  aid,  found  time 
to  right  a  capsized  plum-cake  and  restore  four 
highly -speckled  cylinders  of  bread  and  butter 
to  the  plate  on  the  bottom  storey  of  the  cake- 
stand.  He  even  succeeded  in  grinding  a  hope- 
lessly leaky  chocolate  eclair  into  the  woolly 
hearthrug  with  his  heel.  By  the  time  that  the 
Mainwarings  had  removed  their  visitor's  furs 
and  escorted  her  to  the  fireplace,  no  trace  of  the 
outrage  remained.  The  undetected  criminal  sat 


158  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

nervously  upon  the  edge  of  an  art  nouveau 
milking-stool  in  the  chimney-corner,  waiting  to 
be  introduced. 

"This  is  Mr.  Rylands,  Connie,"  announced 
LadyAdela.  "Mrs.  Carmyle." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Rylands?"  said  Connie, 
holding  out  her  hand  with  a  friendly  smile. 

Mr.  Rylands,  with  an  overfull  teacup  in  one 
hand  and  a  tiny  plate  entirely  obscured  by  an 
enormous  bun  in  the  other,  rose  cautiously  to 
his  feet,  and  bestowing  a  sickly  smile  upon  Mrs. 
Carmyle,  entered  at  once  upon  a  series  of  per- 
ilous feats  of  legerdemain  with  a  view  to  getting 
a  hand  free. 

"Let  me  hold  your  cup  for  you,"  suggested 
Connie  kindly.  "  That 's  better ! " 

The  curate,  gratefully  adopting  this  expedient, 
ultimately  succeeded  in  wringing  his  benefactress 
by  the  hand. 

"  What  has  the  Archdeacon  been  up  to  lately?  " 
enquired  Connie,  gently  massaging  her  fingers. 

The  curate's  face  brightened. 

"It  is  curious  that  you  should  mention  the 
Archdeacon's  name,"  he  said.  "The  fact  is, 
I  have  just  come  from  the  Arch — " 

"Constance  dear,"  enquired  Lady  Adela  in 
trumpet  tones,  "did  you  see  anything  of  Dick 
on  your  way  down?" 

"No,  Lady  Adela,"  said  Connie,  extending 


MICE  AND  MEN  159 

a  slim  foot  towards  the  blazing  logs.  ("Mr. 
Rylands,  would  you  mind  bringing  me  one  of 
those  little  cakes?  No,  not  those  —  the  indigesti- 
ble-looking ones.  Thank  you  so  much!)  Are 
you  expecting  him  for  the  week-end?" 

:'Yes,  but  I  am  afraid  there  is  a  little  disap- 
pointment in  store  for  him.  I  invited  Norah 
Puncheon  down  —  a  sweet  girl,  Constance !  — 
but  at  the  last  moment  she  has  had  to  go  to  bed 
with  one  of  her  throats." 

"Poor  thing!"  murmured  Mrs.  Carmyle  ab- 
sently. The  reason  for  her  own  invitation  —  by 
telegraph  —  had  just  been  made  apparent  to  her. 

"So  perhaps  you  would  not  mind  keeping 
Dick  amused,"  concluded  Lady  Adela.  "You 
and  he  used  to  be  such  particular  friends,"  she 
added  archly. 

"  Bow-wow  / "  observed  Mrs.  Carmyle  dreamily 
into  Mr.  Rylands's  left  ear. 

The  curate  choked,  then  glowed  with  gentle 
gratification.  He  realised  that  he  had  come  face 
to  face  at  last  with  one  of  the  Smart  Set,  of 
which  one  heard  so  much  nowadays. 

"The  naughty  boy,"  concluded  the  fond  mo- 
ther, "must  have  missed  his  train." 

"The  naughty  boy,"  replied  Mrs.  Carmyle, 
"is  probably  coming  down  by  the  four-fifteen. 
It  is  a  much  better  train.  Mr.  Rylands,  will  you 
please  choose  me  a  nice  heavy  crumpet?  " 


160  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"In  that  case,"  said  Lady  Adela,  "he  will 
probably  be  here  in  about  half  an  hour.  Sylvia 
dear,  will  you  go  upstairs  and  see  if  Constance's 
room  is  ready?  I  forgot  to  give  orders  about  a 
fire." 

Sylvia  obediently  disappeared,  and  Lady 
Adela  crossed  the  hall  to  a  chair  under  a  lamp, 
where  her  husband  was  furtively  perusing  the 
evening  paper.  Mr.  Mainwaring  was  now  fa- 
voured with  a  brief  but  masterly  display  of  the 
fast  dying  art  of  pantomime,  from  which  he  gath- 
ered without  any  difficulty  whatever  that  he  was 
to  remove  himself  and  Mr.  Rylands  to  another 
part  of  the  house,  and  that  right  speedily. 

Mr.  Mainwaring  coughed  submissively,  and 
rose. 

"Mr.  Rylands,  will  you  come  and  smoke  a 
cigarette  with  me?'*  he  said. 

"Second  Chronicles?"  remarked  Connie's  clear 
voice.  "I  shall  look  it  up  during  the  sermon  to- 
morrow." The  Archdeacon's  emissary  had  un- 
burdened his  soul  at  last. 

Lady  Adela  extended  a  stately  hand.  "Good- 
bye, Mr.  Rylands,"  she  said.  "My  husband 
insists  on  carrying  you  off  to  the  smoking- 


room." 


Mr.  Rylands,  by  this  time  hopelessly  enmeshed 
in  Connie  Carmyle's  net,  sprang  guiltily  to  his 
feet. 


MICE  AND  MEN  161 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Good-bye!  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Carmyle!" 

He  shook  hands,  gathered  together  his  impedi- 
menta, and  hurried  blindly  up  the  staircase. 

"Remember  I  am  coming  to  hear  you  preach 
to-morrow,"  Connie  called  after  him,  with  a 
dazzling  smile.  "Morning  or  evening?" 

The  godly  but  mesmerised  youth  halted,  and 
broke  out  afresh.  "I  am  preaching  at  Evensong," 
he  began,  "but  — " 

"This  way,  Mr.  Rylands,"  said  Lady  Adela 
patiently,  indicating  her  husband,  who  was 
standing  by  a  swing  door  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  hall. 

Mr.  Rylands,  utterly  confounded,  pattered 
headlong  downstairs  again,  and  disappeared 
with  Mr.  Mainwaring,  still  apologising. 

Lady  Adela  tapped  Connie  playfully  but 
heavily  upon  the  cheek.  ("Like  being  tickled 
by  a  mastodon"  wrote  that  lady  to  her  husband 
a  short  time  later.) 

"Constance  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  reproving 
smile,  "you  are  incorrigible.  Now  let  us  sit  down 
and  have  a  cosy  chat." 

The  incorrigible  one  sat  submissively  down 
upon  the  sofa  and  waited.  She  knew  that  her 
hostess  had  not  rendered  the  hall  a  solitude  for 
nothing. 

Presently  the  cosy  chat  began.    Not  too  sud- 


162  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

denly,  though.  Lady  Adela  first  enquired  after 
the  health  of  Mr.  Carmyle,  and  expressed  regret 
that  he  had  been  prevented  from  accompanying 
his  wife  to  The  Towers. 

"He  was  sent  for  about  his  wretched  canal," 
explained  Connie.  "  But  he  saw  me  off  at  Water- 
loo, and  promised  to  come  down  on  Monday  if 
he  could  get  away." 

"Is  it  the  first  time  you  have  been  parted?" 
asked  Lady  Adela. 

"Yes,"  said  Connie,  in  quite  a  small  voice. 

Her  hostess,  suddenly  human,  patted  her  hand. 

"The  time  will  soon  pass,  dear,"  she  said. 
"You  will  find  this  house  quiet  but  soothing. 
I  like  it  much  better  than  town  myself.  Mr. 
Mainwaring  is  no  trouble,  and  things  are  so 
cheap.  The  only  drawback  is  Sylvia.  She  dis- 
likes the  people  about  here." 

"By  the  way,"  enquired  Connie,  recovering 
her  spirits,  "what  is  Sylvia's  exact  line  just  at 
present?  Last  year  it  was  slumming;  the  year 
before  it  was  poker-work,  and  the  year  before 
that  it  was  Christian  Science.  What  does  that 
sage-green  gown  mean?  Don't  tell  me  she  has 
become  a  Futurist,  or  a  Post-Impressionist,  or 
anything!" 

"I  never  attempt,"  replied  Lady  Adela,  clos- 
ing her  eyes  resignedly,  "to  cope  with  Sylvia's 
hobbies.  At  present  she  is  a  Socialist  of  some 


MICE  AND  MEN  163 

kind.  She  is  evolving  a  scheme,  I  believe,  under 
which  the  masses  and  classes  are  to  intermarry 
for  the  next  twenty  years.  By  that  time,  she 
considers,  social  distinctions  will  have  ceased  to 
exist,  and  consequently  the  social  problem  will 
have  solved  itself. 

Mrs.  Carmyle  nodded  her  head  comprehend- 
ingly. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  "it  sounds  a  good  idea.  I 
shall  start  looking  out  in  the  '  Morning  Post '  for 
the  announcement  of  Sylvia's  engagement  to  a 
plumber.  Just  half  a  cup  more,  please." 

Lady  Adela  now  decided  to  begin  the  cosy 
chat.  She  accordingly  discharged  what  is  known 
on  rifle-ranges  as  a  sighting  shot. 

"By  the  way,  dear  Constance,  have  you  and 
your  husband  seen  much  of  Dick  lately?" 

"Oh,  we  meet  him  about  occasionally,"  re- 
plied Connie,  casting  about  for  cover  —  "  at  par- 
ties, and  so  on." 

"I  fear,"  continued  Lady  Adela,  with  what 
the  police  call  "intent,"  "that  the  poor  boy 
is  lonely." 

"The  last  time  I  saw  him,"  replied  Connie, 
"he  was  entertaining  five  people  to  luncheon 
at  the  Trocadero.  He  did  n't  look  lonely." 

"There  is  a  loneliness  of  spirit,  dear,"  replied 
Lady  Adela  gently,  "of  which  some  of  us  know 
nothing.  I  think  it  shows  that  Dick  must  be 


164  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

feeling  lonely  if  he  requires  no  less  than  five  peo- 
ple to  cheer  him  up." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  said  the  obliging 
Mrs.  Carmyle. 

"Was  Norah  Puncheon  of  the  party,  by  any 
chance?  "  enquired  Lady  Adela  carelessly. 

"No.  I  did  n't  know  any  of  the  people.  Is 
Norah  a  friend  of  Dicky's?" 

"They  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  one  another 
of  late,  I  believe,"  replied  the  diplomatic  Lady 
Adela,  much  as  a  motorist  with  his  radiator  full 
of  feathers  might  admit  having  recently  noticed 
e  hen  somewhere.  "Constance  dear,"  she  con- 
tinued, coming  in  her  maternal  solicitude  quite 
prematurely  to  the  point,  "you  are  always  so 
discreet.  It  is  high  time  Dick  was  married,  and 
this  time  I  really  do  think  —  no,  I  feel  it  instinct- 
ively —  that  Norah  Puncheon  is  the  right  woman 
for  him." 

"The  right  woman!"  replied  the  late  Firk*; 
Reserve  pensively.  "How  awful  that  always 
sounds !  The  wrong  one  is  always  so  much  nicer ! " 

"My  dear,"  exclaimed  the  horrified  Lady 
Adela,  "whoever  put  such  a  notion  into  your 
head?" 

"Dicky.     He  told  me  so  himself." 

"Has  Norah  Puncheon  much  influence  over 
him,  do  you  know?"  continued  Lady  Adela, 
falling  back  on  to  safer  ground. 


MICE  AND  MEN  165 

"Yes,  lots,"  replied  Connie,  stifling  the  tiniest 
of  yawns.  " There  goes  your  telephone." 

"  Milroy  will  attend  to  it,  dear.  Let  me  see," 
pursued  Lady  Adela,  with  studious  vagueness  — 
"what  were  we  talking  about?" 

"Norah  Puncheon's  influence  over  Dicky," 
replied  Connie,  popping  a  lump  of  sugar  into  her 
mouth  and  crunching  it  with  all  the  satisfaction 
of  a  child  of  six. 

"You  have  noticed  it  yourself,  then?" 

Connie,  quite  speechless,  nodded. 

Lady  Adela  beamed.  The  scent  was  growing 
stronger. 

"In  what  way,  dear?"  she  asked,  with  un- 
feigned interest. 

"Well,"  said  Connie,  after  an  interval  of  pro- 
found reflection,  "Dicky  wanted  xo  back  Prince 
Caramel  for  the  St.  Leger,  and  Norah  would  n't 
let  him.  He  was  so  grateful  to  her  after- 
wards!" 

Lady  Adela  summoned  up  a  lopsided  smile  — 
the  smile  of  a  tarpon-fisher  who  has  pulled  up  a 
red  herring. 

"T  think  her  influence  goes  deeper  than  that, 
dearest,"  she  rejoined  in  patient  reproof.  "You, 
who  only  knew  my  son  as  a  rather  careless  and 
light-hearted  boy,  would  hardly  credit — " 

"A  telephone  message,  my  lady!"  announced 
Milroy,  appearing  at  the  dining-room  door. 


166  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Lady  Adela,  tripped  up  on  her  way  to  a  strik- 
ing passage,  sighed  with  an  air  of  pathetic  endur- 
ance, and  enquired :  — 

"From  whom,  Milroy?" 

"From  Mr.  Richard,  my  lady." 

"  Mr.  Richard?     Where  is  he?  " 

"  He  has  telephoned  from  Shotley  Post-Office, 
my  lady,"  replied  Milroy,  keenly  appreciating 
the  mild  sensation  he  was  about  to  create;  "to 
say  that  he  has  arrived  by  the  four-fifteen  and  is 
walking  up." 

"  Walking  —  on  a  night  like  this?  "  cried  Lady 
Adela,  all  the  mother  in  her  awake  at  once. 
"Tell  him  to  wait,  and  I  will  send  the  motor." 

"Mr.  Richard  said  he  preferred  walking,  my 
lady,"  rejoined  Milroy,  growing  more  wooden 
as  he  approached  the  clou  of  his  narrative.  "He 
said  he  would  explain  when  he  arrived.  But  the 
luggage-cart  was  to  go  down." 

"For  one  portmanteau?" 

"For  the  young  lady's  trunks,  my  lady." 

"Young  lady?"  Lady  Adela  turned  a  puzzled 
countenance  to  her  companion.  "Constance, 
dear,  was  not  your  luggage  sent  up  with  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Connie,  scenting  fun;  "it  was. 
I  fancy  this  must  be  some  other  lady." 

Light  broke  in  on  Lady  Adela. 

"Norah  Puncheon,  after  all!"  she  exclaimed 
joyfully.  "Her  throat  must  be  better,  and  that 


MICE  AND  MEN  167 

headstrong  son  of  mine  has  compelled  her  to 
come  down  by  the  four-fifteen." 

"And  walk  up  in  the  rain,"  supplemented 
Connie. 

"The  thoughtless  boy!"  wailed  Lady  Adela 
insincerely.  "He  will  give  her  pneumonia." 

"Perhaps  it  is  n't  Miss  Puncheon,"  suggested 
Connie  soothingly. 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Adela,  refraining 
with  great  forbearance  from  slapping  the  small 
but  discouraging  counsellor  by  her  side,  "who 
else  can  it  be?"  She  turned  to  Milroy. 

"  Did  Mr.  Richard  mention  if  he  was  bringing 
the  young  lady  up  with  him?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  replied  Milroy  with  unction 
—  "he  did." 

"  Did  he  mention  her  name,  Milroy?  "  enquired 
Connie. 

"No,  Miss.  He  just  said  'the  young  lady.' 
Will  there  be  anything  further,  my  lady?" 

"No,"  snapped  Lady  Adela;  and  her  aged 
retainer,  as  feverishly  anxious  beneath  his  per- 
fectly schooled  exterior  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
his  beloved  Master  Dick's  latest  escapade  as  his 
mistress,  departed  to  lay  another  place  for  dinner. 

In  the  hall  there  was  a  long  silence.  The  wind 
roared  round  the  house,  and  the  rain  drummed 
softly  upon  the  diamond  panes  of  the  big  oriel 
window. 


168  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"It  might  be  some  old  friend  of  the  family," 
said  Lady  Adela  hopefully  —  "some  one  whom 
Dick  has  encountered  unexpectedly  and  invited 
down.  You  know  his  impulsive,  hospitable  way ! 
Aunt  Fanny,  perhaps." 

"A  young  lady,  I  think  Milroy  said,"  replied 
the  Job's  comforter  beside  her. 

"Perhaps,"  pursued  Lady  Adela,  still  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  her  courage  up,  "it  is  only  one  of 
the  foolish  boy's  practical  jokes." 

These  speculations  were  cut  short  by  the  pro- 
longed buzz  of  an  electric  bell,  followed  by  the 
sound  of  a  spirited  tattoo  executed  upon  the 
panels  of  the  front  door,  apparently  by  a  walking- 
stick.  The  Freak  (and  party)  had  arrived. 

Lady  Adela  sat  bolt  upright,  almost  pale. 

"Mercy!  here  they  are!"  she  said. 

Milroy,  who  had  appeared  from  his  lair  with 
uncanny  celerity,  was  already  in  the  outer  hall. 
There  was  the  sound  of  a  heavy  door  being 
opened;  the  curtains  bulged  out  with  the  draught; 
and  a  voice  was  heard  uplifted  in  cheery  greeting. 

Then  the  door  banged,  and  Dicky  Mainwaring 
appeared  through  the  curtains. 

He  was  alone,  and  very  wet. 

"What  ho,  Mum!"  he  observed,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  present  generation. 

"My  son!"  exclaimed  Lady  Adela,  advancing 
with  outstretched  arms. 


MICE  AND  MEN  169 

Dicky,  enduring  a  somewhat  lengthy  em- 
brace, suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  small  alert 
figure  on  the  sofa.  Curtailing  the  maternal 
caress  as  gently  as  possible,  he  darted  forward. 

"Connie!"  he  cried  enthusiastically.  "What 
tremendous  luck  meeting  you!"  He  shook  his 
ancient  ally  by  both  hands. 

"I  want  you  more  at  this  moment,"  he  con- 
tinued earnestly,  "than  at  any  other  period  of 
my  life." 

Connie  Carmyle  pointed  an  accusing  finger  at 
him. 

"Dicky  Main  waring,"  she  enquired  sternly, 
"where  is  your  lady  friend?" 

"I  was  just  going  to  introduce  her,"  replied 
Dicky,  with  a  rapturous  smile.  "I  wonder  where 
she  has  got  to,  by  the  way.  Found  a  mirror,  I 
expect." 

Then  he  raised  his  voice  and  cried:  — 

"Tilly!" 

"Hallo!"  replied  an  extremely  small  voice; 
and  a  shrinking  figure  appeared  in  the  opening 
of  the  curtains. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LUCIDITY   ITSELF 


"THIS,  Mum,"  announced  Dicky  in  tones  of 
immense  pride,  "is  Tilly.  Miss  Welwyn,  you 
know." 

He  advanced  to  the  girl,  who  still  stood  hesi- 
tatingly in  the  opening  of  the  curtains,  and  drew 
her  forward  by  the  hand. 

"Come  along,  little  thing,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  made  Connie  Carmyle's  heart  warm  to 
him.  "  Don't  be  frightened.  I  present  to  you  my 
lady  mother.  You  will  know  one  another  inti- 
mately in  no  time,"  he  added  untruthfully. 

Miss  Tilly  Welwyn  advanced  with  faltering 
steps.  It  was  seen  now  that  she  was  petite,  almost 
the  same  height  and  build  as  Connie  Carmyle, 
with  great  grey  eyes  and  a  pretty  mouth.  She 
was  wrapped  in  a  man's  Burberry  coat,  and  wore 
a  motor  veil  tied  under  her  chin.  Rain  dripped 
from  her  in  all  directions.  Timidly  she  extended 
a  glistening  and  froggy  paw  in  the  direction  of 
her  hostess. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Weller?"  said  Lady 
Adela,  mystified  but  well-bred. 


'HOW    DO    YOU    DO,    MISS    WELLER  ?  "    SAID    LADY    ADELA, 
MYSTIFIED    BUT   WELL-BRED 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  171 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  the  visitor 
in  a  frightened  squeak. 

Dicky  cheerfully  set  his  parent  right  upon  the 
subject  of  Miss  Welwyn's  surname,  and  then 
introduced  Mrs.  Carmyle. 

"Tilly,"  he  said,  "this  is  Connie  —  one  of  the 
very  best  that  ever  stepped!  Don't  forget  that: 
you  will  never  hear  a  truer  word." 

The  two  girls  regarded  one  another  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  shook  hands  with  instinctive 
friendliness.  The  small  stranger's  face  cleared, 
and  she  smiled,  first  at  Connie  and  then  up  at 
Dicky. 

Thereafter  came  a  pause.  The  atmosphere  was 
tense  with  enquiry.  One  could  almost  feel  the 
Marconigrams  radiating  from  Lady  Adela.  But 
apparently  The  Freak's  coherer  was  out  of  order. 
He  merely  turned  towards  the  staircase,  and 
exclaimed:  — 

"Hallo,  here  are  Dad  and  Sylvia.  These  are 
the  last  two,"  he  added  in  a  reassuring  under- 
tone to  Miss  Welwyn.  "Quite  tame,  both  of 
them." 

Mr.  Mainwaring's  face  lit  up  joyfully  at  the 
sight  of  his  son,  and  he  hurried  forward. 

"  Dick,  my  boy,  you  Ve  arrived  at  last !  Capi- 
tal!" He  clapped  the  prodigal  on  the  shoulder. 

'Yes,  Dad,"  replied  Dicky  with  equal  zest; 
"  we  have  arrived.  This  is  Tilly ! " 


172  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Mr.  Mainwaring,  entirely  at  sea  but  innately 
hospitable,  greeted  Tilly  heartily.  "You  must  be 
terribly  cold,"  he  said.  "Come  to  the  fire  and  let 
me  take  off  that  wet  garment  of  yours." 

He  led  the  girl  to  the  blaze,  then  turned  to 
shoot  a  glance  of  respectful  enquiry  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  august  spouse.  It  was  ignored.  Mean- 
while Dicky  had  introduced  the  languid  but  far 
from  indifferent  Sylvia. 

"  Now  you  all  know  one  another,"  he  said. 
"Sylvia,  be  a  dear  old  soul  and  take  Miss 
Welwyn  up  to  your  room  and  give  her  some  dry 
things,  will  you?  She  is  soaking,  and  her  lug- 
gage is  n't  here  yet.  You  see,"  he  added  a  little 
lamely  —  Sylvia's  patrician  calm  had  rather 
dashed  him  as  usual  —  "we  walked  from  the 
station  —  did  n't  we,  Tilly?" 

Tilly  nodded  dutifully,  eyeing  Sylvia  the  while 
with  some  distrust. 

"You  will  take  care  of  her,  won't  you?"  con- 
cluded the  solicitous  Dicky. 

"Surely!"  replied  Sylvia,  in  her  grandest 
manner.  "This  way,  Miss  Welwyn." 

She  swept  across  the  hall  and  up  the  staircase, 
followed  by  the  small,  moist,  and  mysterious 
figure  of  the  newcomer. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair  Tilly  halted  and  looked 
back.  Dicky,  who  had  been  following  her  with 
his  eyes,  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment. 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  173 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

The  girl  laid  an  appealing  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Don't  leave  me,  Dicky!"  she  whispered. 

The  Freak  replied  by  tucking  her  arm  under 
his  own  and  propelling  her  vigorously  up  to  the 
turn  of  the  stair. 

"Don't  be  a  little  juggins,"  he  said  affection- 
ately. "/  can't  come  and  change  your  shoes  and 
stockings  for  you,  can  I  ?  " 

Miss  Welwyn,  acquiescing  in  this  eminently 
correct  view  of  the  matter,  smiled  submissively. 

"All  right,"  she  said.    "Au  revoir!" 

She  ran  lightly  upstairs  after  the  disappearing 
Sylvia,  turning  to  wave  her  hand  to  Dicky  before 
she  disappeared. 

Dicky,  who  had  waited  below  for  that  purpose, 
acknowledged  the  salute,  and  turned  to  find  Mrs. 
Carmyle  at  his  elbow. 

"Dicky,"  announced  that  small  Samaritan, 
"I  am  going  up,  too.  Sylvia  might  bite  your 
ewe  lamb." 

The  Freak  smiled  gratefully. 

"The  Lady  and  the  Tiger  — eh?"  he  said. 
"  Connie,  you  are  a  brick !  Be  tender  with  her, 
won't  you?"  he  added  gently.  "She's  scared 
to  death  at  present,  and  no  wonder!" 

Connie  Carmyle,  with  a  reassuring  pat  upon 
the  anxious  young  man's  arm,  turned  and  sped 
upstairs.  Dicky,  hands  in  pockets  and  head  in 


174  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

air,  strolled  happily  back  into  the  circle  of  firelight 
and  took  up  his  stand  upon  the  hearthrug.  Lady 
Adela,  looking  like  a  large  volcano  in  the  very 
last  stages  of  self-suppression,  sat  simmering 
over  the  teacups. 

The  heir  of  the  Mainwarings  addressed  his 
parents  affectionately. 

"Well,  dear  old  things,"  he  enquired,  "how 
are  we?  So  sorry  to  be  late  for  tea,  but  it  was  an 
eventful  and  perilous  journey." 

The  long-overdue  eruption  came  at  last. 

"Dick,"  demanded  Lady  Adela  explosively, 
"why  have  you  brought  that  young  person 
here?" 

"Young  per —  oh,  Tilly?"  Dicky  smiled 
ecstatically  to  himself  at  the  very  sound  of  Miss 
Welwyn's  name.  "Tilly?  Well,  I  don't  see  what 
else  I  could  have  done  with  her,  Mummie  dear. 
I  could  n't  leave  her  at  the  station,  could  I? 
But  I  must  tell  you  about  our  adventures.  First 
of  all  we  lost  Percy." 

"Dick,"  repeated  Lady  Adela,  "who  —  is —  ?  " 

"Who  is  Percy?"  asked  Dicky  readily.  "I 
forgot;  I  have  n't  told  you  about  Percy.  He  is 
her  brother.  A  most  amazing  fellow:  knows 
everything.  Can  explain  to  you  in  two  minutes 
all  the  things  you  have  failed  to  understand  for 
years.  Teach  you  something  you  did  n't  know, 
I  should  n't  wonder,  Mother.  He  is  going  to 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  175 

introduce  me  to  some  of  his  friends,  and  put  me 
up  for  his  club." 

"What  club,  my  boy?"  interposed  Mr.  Main- 
waring,  snatching  at  this  gleam  of  light  in  the 
general  murkiness. 

"'The  Crouch  End  Gladiators/ 1  think  they're 
called,"  said  Dicky.  But  I  have  n't  met  any  of 
them  yet." 

"Where  is  Crouch  End?"  enquired  Lady 
Adela.  "And  why  should  one  have  a  club  there?  " 

"  It  is  a  cycling  club,"  explained  Dicky.  "  You 
go  out  for  spins  in  the  country  on  Saturday 
afternoons.  Topping!  I '11  bring  them  down  here 
one  day  if  you  like!  Each  member  is  allowed 
to  have  one  lady  guest,"  he  added,  with  a  happy 
smile.  "But  to  resume.  We  lost  friend  Percy  at 
Waterloo.  He  went  to  get  a  bicycle  ticket,  or 
something,  and  was  no  more  seen.  The  train 
started  without  him.  Tilly  was  fearfully  upset 
about  it :  said  she  thought  it  was  n't  quite  proper 
for  her  to  come  down  without  a  chaperon  on  her 
first  visit." 

"  She  proposes  to  come  again,  then?  "said  Lady 
Adela,  with  a  short  quavering  laugh. 

Dicky  stopped  short,  and  regarded  his  mother 
with  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"Come  again?  I  should  think  she  was  coming 
again!  Anyhow,  the  poor  little  thing  was  quite 
distressed  when  we  lost  Perce." 


176  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"That,  dear,"  remarked  Lady  Adela  icily,  "is 
what  I  should  call  straining  at  a  gnat  and  swal- 
lowing a  camel.  And  now,  my  boy,  let  me  beg 
you  to  tell  me  — " 

Dicky,  who  was  too  fully  occupied  with  the 
recollections  of  his  recent  journey  to  be  aware 
of  the  physical  and  mental  strain  to  which  he 
was  subjecting  his  revered  parents,  suddenly 
started  off  down  a  fresh  alley  of  irrelevant 
reminiscence. 

"Talking  of  camels,"  he  said,  "there  is  the 
goat." 

"Bless  my  soul,  my  dear  lad!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Mainwaring.  "What  goat?" 

Dicky  was  perfectly  ready  to  explain. 

"When  Tilly  and  I  got  out  of  the  train  at 
Shotley  Beauchamp  station,"  he  began,  "and 
found  that  you  two  absent-minded  old  dears  had 
forgotten  to  send  anything  to  meet  us  — " 

"But  Dick,  my  boy,"  interposed  the  old  gentle- 
man —  Lady  Adela  was  rapidly  progressing 
beyond  the  stage  of  articulate  remonstrance  — 
"how  could  your  mother  be  expected  to  divine 
your  intentions  with  regard  to  trains,  or  to  know 
that  you  were  bringing  down  —  er  —  a  guest?" 

"I  wrote  and  told  you,"  said  Dicky. 

"When,  pray?"  enquired  Lady  Adela,  finding 
speech  again. 

"The  day  before  yesterday,"  said  Dicky  posi- 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  177 

lively;  "breaking  the  news  about  Tilly,  and  when 
we  were  coming,  and  — " 

"We  received  no  letter  from  you,"  replied 
Lady  Adela. 

"But  I  wrote  it,  Mum!"  cried  Dicky.  "I  spent 
three  hours  over  it.  It  was  the  most  important 
letter  I  have  ever  written  in  my  life !  Is  it  likely 
a  man  could  forget  — " 

"Feel  in  your  pockets,  my  boy,"  suggested  the 
experienced  Mr.  Mainwaring. 

Dicky  smiled  indulgently  upon  his  resourceful 
parent,  and  pulled  out  the  contents  of  his  breast- 
pocket —  a  handful  of  old  letters  and  a  cigarette 
case. 

"Anything  to  oblige  you,  Dad,"  he  ran  on, 
scanning  the  addresses.  "But  I  know  I  posted 
the  thing.  A  man  does  not  forget  on  such  an 
oc —  No!  you  are  right.  I'm  a  liar.  Here  it 
is!" 

He  produced  a  fat  envelope  from  the  bunch, 
and  threw  it  down  upon  the  tea-table. 

ii 

"I  forgive  you  both,"  he  said,  smiling  serenely, 
"for  not  sending  to  meet  us.  Well,  to  return  to 
the  goat  — " 

Veins  began  to  stand  out  upon  Lady  Adela's 
patrician  brow. 

"Richard,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  low  and  vibrant 


178  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

tone  —  "for  the  last  time,  who  is  that  young 
woman?" 

Dicky  stared  down  upon  his  afflicted  parent 
in  unaffected  surprise,  and  then  dissolved  into 
happy  laughter. 

"I  must  tell  Tilly  about  this,"  he  roared.  "Of 
course,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  you  don't  know 
a  thing  about  her.  You  never  got  my  letter! 
Fancy  you  two  poor  old  creatures  sitting  there  as 
good  as  gold  and  wondering  why  I  had  brought 
her  down  here  at  all !  Oh,  my  sainted  Mother ! " 

"Who  is  she?"  reiterated  the  sainted  Mother, 
fighting  for  breath. 

"She  is  my  little  girl,"  replied  Dicky  proudly. 
"We're  engaged." 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Lady  Adela,  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"And  I  have  brought  her  down  here  to  make 
your  acquaintance,  that's  all!"  concluded  the 
happy  lover,  apparently  surprised  that  his  rela- 
tionship to  Miss  Welwyn  should  ever  have  been 
a  matter  of  doubt  to  any  one.  "We  met  the  goat 
outside  the  station  — " 

Lady  Adela  uttered  a  deep  groan.  Mr.  Main- 
waring  rose  from  his  seat  and  advanced  upon  his 
tall  son,  who  still  leaned  easily  against  the  mantel- 
piece, with  his  feet  upon  the  hearthrug  and  hie 
head  above  the  clouds. 

"My  dearest  boy,"  he  said,  patting  Dicky 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  179 

affectionately  and  coaxingly  upon  the  shoulder, 
"do  you  realise  that  you  are  our  only  son,  and 
that  as  such  we  take  a  not  unreasonable  interest 
in  your  welfare?  Would  you  mind  postponing  the 
goat  for  a  moment  and  giving  us  a  more  explicit 
account  of  the  young  lady?  I  had  only  the  merest 
glimpse  of  her  just  now,"  he  concluded,  doggedly 
avoiding  his  wife's  eye,  "but  she  struck  me  as 
charming  —  charming! " 

Dicky's  air  of  cheerful  inanity  fell  from  him 
like  a  cloak.  Exultantly  he  took  his  father  by  the 
shoulders. 

"Dad,"  he  shouted,  "she's  the  most  blessed 
little  darling  that  ever  walked  this  earth!  She's 
a  princess !  She 's  a  fairy !  She 's  a  —  " 

The  rhapsodist  broke  off  short,  and  flushed  red. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "for  waffling  like  that, 
but  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  'm  doing  just  at 
present.  Dad,  I'm  the  happiest  man  that  ever 
lived!" 

"  My  boy,  my  boy,"  cried  little  Mr.  Mainwar- 
ing,  "I'm  glad  — I'm  glad!" 

And  father  and  son,  regardless  of  the  feelings 
of  the  unfortunate  lady  upon  the  sofa,  proceeded 
to  shake  one  another  violently  and  continuously 
by  both  hands. 

At  last  they  desisted,  a  little  sheepishly. 

"Abel,"  said  a  cold  voice,  "be  seated.  Dick, 
take  that  chair." 


180  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Both  gentlemen  complied  meekly. 

"I  see,"  said  Lady  Adela,  looking  up  from  a 
rapid  perusal  of  her  son's  letter,  "that  the  girl's 
name  is  Tilly  Welwyn.  Tilly,  I  presume,  is  an 
abbreviation  of  Matilda?" 

"I  don't  know,"  confessed  Dicky.  "But  Tilly 
will,"  he  added  brightly.  "She  knows  every- 
thing." 

"I  notice,"  continued  the  Counsel  for  the  Pros- 
ecution, still  skimming  through  the  letter,  "that 
you  have  known  one  another  for  a  short  time  — " 

"  Seven  weeks,  five  days,  four  hours,  and  a  few 
odd  minutes,"  confirmed  the  defendant,  looking 
at  his  watch. 

"  —  And  you  became  engaged  as  recently  as 
last  Sunday."  Lady  Adela  laid  down  the  letter. 
"Where?" 

"On  the  top  of  a  'bus." 

"H'm!"  said  Mr.  Mainwaring  uneasily. 

"A  rather  unusual  place,  was  it  not?"  en- 
quired Lady  Adela  coldly. 

"Unusual,"  agreed  Dicky  readily,  "but  not 
irregular.  Oh,  no!  Besides,  Percy  was  there, 
three  seats  behind.  Perfect  dragon  of  a  chaperon, 
old  Perce!  Yes,  the  proceedings  were  most  cor- 
rect, I  promise  you." 

"I  note,"  continued  Lady  Adela,  taking  up  the 
letter  again,  "that  you  do  not  say  where  you 
made  Miss  Welwyn's  acquaintance." 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  181 

"That  was  on  the  top  of  another  'bus,"  ex- 
plained Dicky,  with  a  disarming  smile. 

"And  was  her  brother,"  enquired  Lady  Adela, 
ominously  calm,  "present  on  this  occasion?" 

"Percy?  Rather  not!  Otherwise  I  need  not 
have  interfered." 

i    "Int — "  began   both   Lady  Adela  and  Mr. 
Mainwaring  together. 

"Yes,"  said  Dicky  glibly.  "It  was  like  this. 
The  rain  began  to  come  down  hard,  and  a  rather 
poisonous-looking  bounder  sitting  beside  her 
offered  her  his  umbrella." 

"Any  gentleman  would  have  done  the  same, 
Dick,"  interposed  Mr.  Mainwaring  quietly. 

"Yes,  Dad.  But  I  don't  think  any  gentleman 
would  have  insisted  on  paying  a  girl's  fare  for 
her;  and  I  don't  think  any  gentleman  would 
have  considered  a  half-share  in  a  three-and- 
ninepenny  brolly  an  excuse  for  putting  his  arm 
round  a  girl's  waist, "  replied  Dicky,  with  sudden 
passion. 

"He  did  that?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

Dicky  grinned  cheerfully. 

"I  did  a  pretty  bright  thing,"  he  said.  "It 
was  no  business  of  mine,  of  course,  and  I  natu- 
rally did  n't  want  to  start  a  brawl  on  the  top  of 
a  Piccadilly  omnibus  — " 


182  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Dick,  what  were  you  doing  on  the  top  of  an 
omnibus  at  all?"  demanded  Lady  Adela  unex- 
pectedly. "Such  economies  are  a  new  feature 
of  your  character." 

Dicky  nodded  his  head  sagely. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  "that's  a  sound  point  — 
a  sound  point.  What  was  I  doing  on  the  top  of 
that  omnibus  at  all?  That 's  the  mystery .  I  was 
extremely  surprised  myself.  I  have  spent  whole 
days  since,  wondering  how  I  got  there.  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  Fate  —  just 
Fate !  That 's  it  —  Fate ! " 

"My  dear  boy,  don't  talk  nonsense,"  said 
Lady  Adela  impatiently. 

"But  I  am  quite  serious,  dear  Mum,"  persisted 
Dicky.  "I  don't  as  a  rule  go  following  unpro- 
tected young  females  onto  the  summits  of  omni- 
buses — " 

Lady  Adela's  fine  eyes  began  to  protrude, 
crabwise. 

"You  followed  her?"  she  gasped. 

"I  did.  What  else  was  there  to  do?"  said 
Dicky  simply.  "I  might  never  have  seen  her 
again  if  I  had  n't.  Fate  does  n't  as  a  rule  give  a 
man  two  chances.  I  got  this  one,  and  I  took  it. 
One  moment  I  was  walking  along  Piccadilly, 
bucking  about  something  to  old  Tiny  Carmyle. 
Next  moment  there  she  was,  stepping  on  to  that 
Piccadilly  'bus.  In  about  five  seconds  I  found 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  183 

myself  up  on  top,  too,  sitting  on  the  seat  behind 
her.  I  tell  you,  it  must  - 

"What  became  of  Mr.  Carmyle?"  asked  Lady 
Adela,  ruthlessly  interrupting  another  rhap- 
sody. 

Dicky  smiled  vaguely,  and  rubbed  his  head. 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know,"  he  confessed. 
"It's  the  first  time  the  matter  has  occurred  to 
me.  I  expect  he  went  home.  He's  a  resourceful 
old  creature." 

"How  did  you  dispose  of  the  man  with  the 
umbrella,  my  boy?"  enquired  Mr.  Mainwaring. 

"Ah,"  said  Dicky,  abandoning  Carmyle  to  his 
fate,  "  that  was  where  I  did  the  bright  thing.  The 
fellow  looked  as  if  he  made  rather  a  hobby  of  this 
sort  of  game,  and  that  gave  me  an  idea.  When  he 
started  amusing  himself,  I  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  said,  right  in  his  ear:  'Look  here,  my 
man,  do  you  remember  what  happened  to  you 
the  last  time  you  were  rude  to  a  lady  when  you 
thought  no  one  was  with  her? ' ' 

Mr.  Mainwaring  rubbed  his  hands  gently. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

"At  that,"  continued  The  Freak  with  relish, 
"my  sportsman  went  a  sort  of  ripe  gorgonzola 
colour,  grabbed  his  filthy  brolly,  and  slid  heavily 
down  the  back  stairs  of  the  'bus." 

"And  what  did  you  do  then,"  enquired  Lady 
Adela. 


184  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"I,"  replied  Dicky  triumphantly,  "got  up 
and  took  his  seat  and  gave  Tilly  my  um- 
brella!" 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha ! "  crowed  Mr.  Main  waring  delight- 
edly. "H'm!  h'm!  h'm!  Honk!  honk!  honk!" 
he  concluded  hurriedly,  coughing  laboriously  and 
patting  himself  upon  the  chest,  as  his  consort 
turned  menacingly  in  his  direction. 

"And  where  did  you  part  company?"  asked 
Lady  Adela. 

"Well,"  explained  the  culprit,  "I  offered  to 
see  her  home.  She  was  rather  shaken  up  by  what 
had  happened." 

Lady  Adela  nodded  her  head  as  if  she  had  ex- 
pected this. 

"I  see.    And  what  did  the  young  woman  — 

"Don't  you  think,  Mum  dear,  that  you  might 
start  calling  her  'lady'  now?"  suggested  Dicky 
gently. 

" — Say  to  that?  "  she  enquired,  without  taking 
the  slightest  notice  of  the  interruption. 

"She  said  she  was  n't  going  home.  She  was 
out  shopping,  it  seemed.  In  fact,  she  got  down  at 
a  shop  in  Oxford  Street.  I  insisted  on  her  keep- 
ing the  umbrella,  though." 

"As  a  gift?" 

"No,"  said  Dicky  with  a  twinkle;  "as  a  host- 
age." 

"And  you  gave  her  your  address?" 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  185 

Dicky's  radiant  countenance  clouded  for  a 
moment. 

"Not  quite,"  he  said.  "I  meant  to,  of  course; 
but  I  can't  have  been  quite  my  own  calm  self;  for 
instead  of  giving  her  my  own  address,  I  asked 
for  hers." 

"She  gave  it,  I  suppose?"  said  Lady  Adela 
dryly. 

"No.  She  hesitated  badly.  I  ought  to  have 
realised  at  once  that  I  was  not  quite  playing  the 
game;  but  I  was  so  mad  keen  to  see  her  again  that 
the  idea  never  occurred  to  me.  I  simply  thought 
she  had  forgotten  where  she  lived,  or  something, 
and  waited." 

"But  finally,"  said  Lady  Adela,  "the  young  — 
lady  did  confide  her  address  to  you?" 

Dicky  nodded,  and  his  mother  continued:  — 

"Where  does  she  live?" 

"Russell  Square,"  said  Dicky  rapturously. 

"Russell  Square?  Ah!  I  know  it.  One  drives 
through  it  on  the  way  to  Euston.  In  Bloomsbury, 
I  believe?"  said  Lady  Adela. 

Her  infatuated  son  corrected  her.  "Not 
Bloomsbury,"  he  said  reverently;  "Heaven." 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  Lady  Adela,  entirely  un- 
moved .  * '  Wh  at  number  ? ' ' 

"I  have  forgotten  the  number  long  ago," 
replied  Dicky,  "but  I  could  find  my  way  to  the 
place  blindfold  by  this  time." 


186  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Don't  you  ever  write  to  her?"  asked  his 
mother  curiously. 
"Everyday." 

"Then  you  must  know  her  postal  address," 
was  the  crushing  rejoinder. 

Dicky  merely  shook  his  head,  and  smiled 
serenely. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  said. 

"Then  where  do  you  address  her  letters?" 

"I  walk  round  every  night  after  bedtime,  and 
drop  the  letter  into  her  letter-box.  Is  it  likely 
I  would  let  a  postman  touch  it?  Anyhow,  on  this 
occasion  Tilly  told  me  that  if  I  asked  for  my 
umbrella  any  time  I  was  passing  it  would  be 
handed  out  to  me.  Then  she  thanked  me  again, 
the  darling,  and  went  into  the  shop." 

"Front  entrance?"  enquired  Lady  Adela 
swiftly. 

"Was  it?"  said  Dicky  vaguely.  "I  don't 
remember.  Yes,  I  do.  She  went  round  and  in 
at  the  side  somewhere.  Why?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Lady  Adela.  "And  did  you 
call  at  Russell  Square?  " 

"Rather!   I  went  there  next  afternoon." 

"Were  you  invited  in?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  met  her  coming  out, 
with  her  father.  A  splendid  old  chap!  Appar- 
ently Tilly  had  told  him  the  whole  tale,  and  he 
had  expressed  a  desire  to  make  my  acquaintance. 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  187 

A  lucky  desire  for  me,  what?  He  took  us  both 
out  to  tea." 

"Where?" 

"  Gunter's.  Said  he  was  sorry  he  could  n't  ask 
me  into  the  house  at  present,  as  they  had  the 
paperhangers  in.  After  that  visitation  was  over, 
I  was  to  come  and  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  rest  of  the  family." 

"And  did  you?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  the  house  like  inside?"  was  the  next 
inevitable  feminine  enquiry. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth  I  have  n't  been  inside 
yet,  except  the  front  hall.  But  I  met  the  rest  of 
the  family  at  a  very  friendly  little  luncheon  given 
in  my  honour  at  the  Criterion  on  the  following 
Saturday  afternoon." 

"And  what  are  the  rest  of  the  family  like?" 

Dicky  pondered. 

"Now  I  come  to  think  it  over,"  he  confessed 
at  length,  "I'm  not  very  clear  about  the  rest  of 
the  family.  Collectively  they  struck  me  as  being 
the  most  charming  people  I  had  ever  met,  but 
I  don't  seem  to  have  noticed  them  individually, 
if  you  know  what  I  mean.  You  see,  Tilly  was 
there." 

"How  many  are  there?"  pursued  his  mother, 
with  exemplary  patience. 

"Four  or  five,  I  should  think,  but  I  have  never 


188  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

counted  them,"  replied  the  exasperating  Rich- 
ard. "Tilly—" 

Mr.  Mainwaring  came  timidly  to  his  wife's 
aid. 

"Is  there  a  mother,  my  boy?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  mother,"  replied  Dicky  hastily. 
"Oh,  yes,"  he  repeated  with  more  confidence, 
"certainly  there  is  a  mother." 

"Any  sisters?" 

"There  is  a  small  girl  —  a  dear.  And  I  have  a 
kind  of  notion  there  are  some  twins  somewhere. 
Tilly-" 

"Any  brothers?" 

Dicky  smiled,  apparently  at  some  amusing 
thought. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "there  is  Percy.  A  sterling 
fellow,  Perce !  I  wonder  where  he  is,  by  the  way. 
If  he  were  here  he  might  be  able  to  do  something 
with  the  goat.  Any  one  would  respect  Percy  — 
even  a  goat." 

Lady  Adela  sighed  despairingly.  Mr.  Mainwar- 
ing, taking  the  goat  by  the  horns,  so  to  speak, 
asked  his  son  to  elucidate  the  mystery  once  and 
for  all. 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you  about  the  goat?"  asked 
Dick  in  surprise.  "Well,  it  was  like  this.  When 
Tilly  and  I  were  hunting  for  a  cab  in  the  rain  at 
the  station  just  now,  we  met  a  woman  with  a 
goat,  in  tears." 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  189 

"The  goat?"  said  Lady  Adela  incredulously. 

"  No,  its  mother  —  I  mean,  its  proprietress. 
She  had  missed  the  market,  or  something,  owing 
to  her  pony  breaking  down,  and  she  had  come  to 
the  station  as  a  forlorn  hope,  to  see  if  she  could 
catch  a  departing  goat-merchant  and  unload 
Maximilian  on  him." 

"Maximilian?"  interjected  Lady  Adela  gid- 
dily. 

"  Yes  —  the  goat.  We  had  to  call  him  some- 
thing, you  know.  Her  husband  was  very  ill  in 
bed,  and  Maximilian  had  to  be  sold  to  defray 
expenses,  it  seemed." 

"And  so  you  —  er  —  purchased  Maximilian? " 
said  Mr.  Mainwaring. 

"We  did,"  replied  The  Freak  gravely.  "That 
was  why  we  had  to  walk.  The  cabman  would  not 
allow  us  to  take  Maximilian  inside  with  us,  and 
Max  absolutely  declined  to  sit  on  the  box  beside 
the  cabman  —  which  did  n't  altogether  surprise 
me  —  so  we  all  three  had  to  come  here  on  our 
arched  insteps.  I  wonder  where  Tilly  is." 

"Where  is  the  animal  now?"  enquired  Lady 
Adela  apprehensively.  She  was  quite  prepared 
to  hear  that  Maximilian  was  already  in  the  best 
bedroom. 

"We  left  him  on  the  lawn,  tethered  to  the 
rain-gauge,"  replied  Dicky.  "Ah,  there  she  is!" 
•  Forgetting  the  goat  and  all  other  impediments 


190  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

to  the  course  of  true  love,  he  hurried  to  the  foot 
of  the  staircase. 

in 

Miss  Welwyn  and  Mrs.  Carmyle  descended 
the  stairs  together,  Sylvia  stalking  majestically 
in  the  rear.  Tilly  wore  a  short  navy-blue  skir, 
and  a  soft  silk  shirt  belonging  to  Connie  —  gar- 
ments which,  owing  to  the  mysterious  readiness 
with  which  the  female  form  accommodates  itself 
to  the  wardrobe  of  its  neighbour,  fitted  her  to 
perfection.  In  this  case,  however,  the  miracle 
was  less  noticeable  than  usual,  for  the  two  girls 
were  of  much  the  same  height  and  build,  their 
chief  points  of  difference  being  their  hair  and 
eyes. 

In  reply  to  her  swain's  tender  enquiries,  Miss 
Welwyn  intimated  that  she  was  now  warm  and 
dry. 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Dicky,  "come  and  sit 
up  to  the  tea-table  and  take  some  nourishment." 

On  her  way  to  her  tea  Tilly  was  met  by  Mr. 
Mainwaring  senior,  with  outstretched  hands. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  with  shy  cor- 
diality, "we  owe  you  a  most  humble  apology." 

Tilly,  flushing  prettily,  asked  why. 

"For  our  extremely  vague  greeting  to  you  just 
now,"  explained  her  host.  :'You  see" —  he 
clapped  Dicky  fondly  on  the  shoulder  —  "this 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  191 

intellectual  son  of  ours  forgot  to  post  the  letter 
announcing  your  —  telling  us  about  you.  We 
have  only  just  heard  the  news.  Now  that  we 
have  you,  my  dear"  —  the  old  gentleman's  eyes 
beamed  affectionately  —  "we  are  going  to  make 
much  of  you!" 

"Oh,  thank  you!  You  are  kind!"  cried  Tilly 
impulsively ;  and  smiled  gratefully  upon  her  future 
father-in-law.  His  were  the  first  official  words 
of  welcome  that  she  had  received. 

"Good  old  Dad!"  said  Dicky. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Adela  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  her  male  belongings  were  over- 
doing it. 

"Do  you  take  sugar,  Miss  Welwyn?"  she 
enquired  loudly. 

"Yes,  please,"  said  Tilly,  still  engaged  in 
smiling  affectionately  upon  the  Mainwarings, 
pere  et  fils. 

"I  wonder  now,"  continued  Mr.  Mainwaring, 
'*  if  you  are  in  any  way  related  to  an  old  friend  of 
mine  —  or  perhaps  I  should  say  acquaintance, 
for  he  moved  on  a  higher  plane  than  I  —  Lucius 
Welwyn?  I  was  at  school  with  him  more  than 
forty  years  ago,  and  also  at  Cambridge." 

"Lucius  Welwyn?"  cried  Tilly,  her  eyes  glow- 
ing. "He  is  my  Daddy  —  my  father!" 

"You  don't  say  so?  Capital!"  Abel  Main- 
waring  turned  to  his  wife.  "Adela,  do  you  hear 


192  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

that?  Miss  Welwyn  and  I  have  established  a 
bond  of  union  already.  Her  father  was  actually 
at  school  with  me." 

Lady  Adela  flatly  declined  to  join  in  the 
general  enthusiasm. 

"Are  you  sure,  dear?  "  was  all  she  said.  "There 
might  be  two." 

Mr.  Mainwaring  pointed  out,  with  truth,  that 
Lucius  Welwyn  was  an  uncommon  name.  "But 
we  can  easily  make  sure,"  he  said.  "The  Lucius 
Welwyn  whom  I  remember  was  a  Fellow  of  his 
College.  Did  your  father  — " 

"Yes,  Dad  was  a  Fellow  of  his  College  for  some 
years,"  said  Tilly.  "I  think  I  will  come  a  little 
farther  from  the  fire  now,  if  you  don't  mind. 
I  am  quite  warm." 

"  Come  and  sit  here  by  me,  dear  Miss  Welwyn," 
said  Lady  Adela  with  sudden  affability.  "I 
want  to  have  a  cosy  little  chat  with  you.  Dick, 
you  are  very  wet  and  muddy.  Go  and  change." 

"All  right,"  said  Dicky  obediently. 

As  he  left  the  hall  he  said  something  in  a  low 
voice  to  Mrs.  Carmyle.  That  small  champion 
of  the  oppressed  nodded  comprehendingly,  and 
established  herself  at  a  writing-table  under  the 
curtained  window. 

"Abel,"  enquired  Lady  Adela,  in  pursuance  of 
her  policy  of  once  more  clearing  the  decks  for  ac- 
tion, "what  have  you  done  with  Mr.  Rylands?" 


LUCIDITY  ITSELF  193 

"I  quite  forgot  him,"  confessed  Mr.  Mainwar- 
ing.  "  I  was  so  much  occupied  with  Miss  Welwyn. 
I  fear  he  is  still  in  the  smoking-room." 

"  Go  and  let  him  out  —  by  the  side  door," 
commanded  Lady  Adela. 

"Come  on,  Dad!"  said  Dicky. 

Father  and  son  disappeared,  arm-in-arm; 
Lady  Adela  and  Sylvia  closed  in  upon  the  flinch- 
ing Miss  Welwyn;  and  Mrs.  Carmyle,  taking  up 
her  pen,  addressed  herself  to  the  composition  of 
an  epistle  to  her  lord  and  master. 

Lady  Adela  looked  round,  and  remarked  in 
solicitous  tones :  — 

"Constance,  dear,  you  have  chosen  a  very 
draughty  corner  for  yourself." 

"  I  have  put  fresh  note-paper  in  your  bedroom, 
Connie,"  added  Sylvia  cordially. 

"I'm  as  right  as  rain,  thanks,"  said  Connie. 
"Just  scribbling  a  line  to  Bill." 

And  she  began :  — 

I  have  arrived  quite  safely,  old  man,  and  the  most 
tremendously  exciting  things  are  happening  here. 
Listen! 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ANOTHER  COSY  CHAT,    WITH  AN   INTERRUPTION 


THE  victim,  continued  Connie  presently,  is  now 
upon  the  sofa,  wedged  in  between  the  Chief  Ogress 
and  the  Assistant  Tormentor.  She  is  scared  out  of 
her  wits,  poor  thing,  but  has  stood  up  to  the  pair  of 
them  splendidly  so  far. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come  down  to  this  poky 
little  corner  of  the  country,  Miss  Welwyn,"  Lady 
Adela  was  saying,  handing  Tilly  a  second  cup  of 
tea.  "It  is  so  nice  when  one's  friends  take  one  as 
they  find  one,  is  it  not?" 

Tilly,  wide-eyed  and  quaking,  was  understood 
to  assent  to  this  proposition. 

"You  live  in  town,  I  understand?"  continued 
Lady  Adela  cautiously. 

Tilly  took  a  deep  breath,  and  began:  — 

"Yes  —  in  Russell  Square.  The  house,"  she 
continued  rapidly,  "is  very  old-fashioned.  It  be- 
longed to  my  grandfather.  My  father  inherited 
from  him,  and  we  have  lived  there  ever  since  we 
left  Cambridge.  We  have  often  talked  of  leav- 
ing, but  Dad  says  he  can't  bear  transplanting  at 
his  time  of  life.  So,"  concluded  Tilly,  with  an 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT         195 

hysterical  little  gasp  —  Lady  Adela  and  Sylvia 
were  listening  with  the  dispassionate  immobility 
of  a  pair  of  well-nourished  sphinxes  —  "  we  just 
stay  on. " 

She  has  confessed  that  she  lives  in  Bloomsbury, 
wrote  Mrs.  Carmyle.  The  Inquisition  are  one 
up. 

"Russell  Square!"  cooed  Lady  Adela.  "How 
charming  and  old-fashioned!  So  handy  for  the 
British  Museum,  too ! " 

"And  Euston  Road!"  added  Sylvia  enthusi- 
astically. 

Cats  I  Cats !!  Cats !!!  recorded  Connie  furiously. 

Lady  Adela  offered  Tilly  a  bun,  and  resumed 
her  long-distance  fire. 

4  You  are  quite  a  small  family,  I  imagine?" 

"  Well,"  began  Tilly  readily  —  they  had  reached 
a  topic  that  lay  very  near  her  heart  —  "  there 
are  Father  and  Mother,  of  course,  and  my  bro- 
ther Percy,  and  my  sister,  and  two  quite  tiny 
ones.  My  grandmother  — " 

"How  nice,"  murmured  Lady  Adela  indul- 
gently, closing  her  eyes  as  if  to  mitigate  the 
strain  of  this  enumeration.  "And  what  is  your 
little  sister's  name?" 

"Amelia." 

"Amelia?  Delightful!  Perfect!  It  suits  Rus- 
sell Square  exactly." 

"One  feels,"  corroborated  Sylvia,  "as  if  the 


196  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Sedleys  and  the  Osbornes  and  the  Rawdon 
Crawleys  all  lived  next  door." 

Why  don't  they  smack  people  like  Sylvia  more 
in  their  youth  ?  enquired  Mrs.  Carmyle's  letter 
plaintively. 

"I  don't  think  we  have  met  any  of  them"  said 
Miss  Welwyn  doubtfully.  "The  Mossops  live  on 
one  side  of  us  and  the  Rosenbaums  on  the  other. 
We  don't  call  on  them,  of  course,"  she  added 
apprehensively.  "And  oh,  Lady  Adela,  I  have 
an  invitation  for  you  from  my  mother,  to  come 
and  have  tea  with  us." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  your  mother,"  said  Lady 
Adela  graciously.  :'You  shall  give  me  the  invi- 
tation when  you  have  unpacked  your  boxes." 

"It's  —  it's  not  a  written  invitation,"  said 
Tilly.  "Mother  just  asked  me  to  ask  you,  any 
day  you  happen  to  be  coming  into  town.  Then 
you  would  meet  my  father  and  the  others." 

"That  will  be  charming,"  replied  Lady  Adela. 
"I  think  we  have  no  engagement  on  Monday." 
(Lady  A.  is  simply  bursting  with  curiosity  about 
the  girl's  family,  observed  Connie  at  this  point.) 
"I  will  write  a  little  note  to  your  mother,  and 
you  shall  take  it  back  with  you  on  Monday  morn- 
ing. Are  you  the  eldest  of  the  family?" 

"No.  Perce  —  Percy  is  the  eldest.  He  is 
twenty -two." 

"Is  he  at  the  University?" 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT        197 

Miss  Welwyn  shook  her  head. 

"Not  now,"  she  said.  She  spoke  with  more 
freedom.  The  restraint  of  her  surroundings  was 
wearing  off,  and  her  courage,  which  was  consider- 
able, was  beginning  to  assert  itself.  "He  is  in 
the  City.  He  dislikes  it  very  much,  poor  boy. 
He  is  so  fond  of  open-air  sports,  and  he  finds  an 
office  very  trying.  My  father  was  a  great  sports- 
man, too.  He  used  to  go  racing  a  good  deal  at  one 
time,  but  he  has  given  it  up  now.  He  says  he  is 
on  the  shelf." 

"And  he  was  a  Fellow  of  his  College,  I  think 
you  said?"  remarked  Lady  Adela,  a  little  bored 
with  this  prattle. 

"Yes  —  Fellow  and  Tutor." 

"But  he  is  no  longer  in  residence,  you  say?" 

"No,"  said  Tilly  briefly. 

There  is  something  shady  about  the  poor  child's 
father,  wrote  Mrs.  Carmyle,  but  Lady  A,  has  got 
no  change  out  of  her  so  far. 

"  I  am  looking  forward  greatly  to  making  your 
father's  acquaintance,  Miss  Welwyn,"  said  Lady 
Adela,  with  absolute  sincerity.  "Now,  I  wonder 
if  I  know  any  of  your  mother's  people.  I  don't 
think  you  have  mentioned  her  maiden  name." 

"She  was  a  Banks,"  replied  Miss  Welwyn 
readily. 

Billy  dear,  this  little  girl  is  splendid!  recorded 
Connie  enthusiastically. 


198  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 


"I  beg  your  pardon?"  said  Lady  Adela. 

"A  Banks,"  repeated  Tilly  politely. 

Lady  Adela  nodded  her  head  intelligently. 

"Ah,  to  be  sure!"  she  said.  "Let  me  see.  Are 
they  a  Warwickshire  family,  now?" 

"Or  is  it  a  Cornish  name?"  queried  Sylvia, 
with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"No,"  said  Tilly.  "Mother  came  from  Bed- 
fordshire —  or  else  Cambridgeshire,"  she  added 
rather  breathlessly,  for  the  four  eyes  of  the 
sphinxes  were  upon  her  once  more. 

"But,  dear  Miss  Welwyn — "  began  Sylvia. 

I  can  stand  this  no  longer!  scribbled  Connie, 
and  threw  down  her  pen. 

"Thank  goodness,  that 's  over ! "  she  exclaimed, 
rising  and  coming  over  to  the  fire.  "What  a 
nuisance  affectionate  husbands  are!  Talking  of 
husbands,  Sylvia,  I  hear  you  are  going  to  marry 
a  plumber." 

Lady  Adela  and  Sylvia,  taken  in  flank,  both 
turned  and  eyed  the  frivolous  interloper  severely. 
Had  they  not  done  so,  they  would  have  noted 
that  Miss  Welwyn's  teacup  had  almost  leaped 
from  its  saucer. 

"Dear  Connie,  you  are  priceless,"  commented 
Sylvia  patronisingly.  "I  wonder  where  you  got 
your  quaint  sense  of  humour." 

"Lady  Adela  was  my  informant,"  said  Connie, 
quite  unruffled.  She  had  drawn  the  enemy's  fire 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT        199 

upon  herself,  which  was  precisely  what  she  had 
intended  to  do.  "Jolly  sensible  of  you,  too!  A 
plumber  is  a  useful  little  thing  to  have  about  a 
house.  My  Bill  is  practically  one,  you  know, 
although  he  calls  himself  something  grander. 
Now,  what  about  a  four-handed  game  of  billiards 
before  dinner?  Do  you  feel  inclined  to  play, 
Miss  Welwyn?" 

"I  am  rather  out  of  practice,"  said  Tilly 
dubiously. 

"Never  mind!"  said  Connie.  "You  can  play 
with  Dicky  against  Mr.  Mainwaring  and  me." 

She  walked  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and 
called  up:  "Mr.  Richard,  forward!" 

"In  one  moment,  Miss!"  replied  a  voice  far 
up  the  height.  "I'm  just  attending  to  a  lady 
at  the  ribbon  counter.  I'll  step  down  directly." 
Then  a  stentorian  bawl:  "Sign,  please!" 

During  this  characteristic  exchange  of  inani- 
ties an  electric  bell  purred  faintly  in  the  distance, 
with  the  usual  result  that  the  dining-room  door 
opened,  to  emit  the  jinnee-like  presence  of  Mr. 
Milroy. 

"What  is  it,  Milroy?"  enquired  Lady  Adela. 

"Front  door  bell,  my  lady,"  replied  Milroy, 
and  disappeared  like  a  corpulent  wraith  through 
the  curtains. 

"Heavens,  not  another  caller!"  exclaimed  the 
overwrought  mistress  of  the  household. 


200  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Probably  Mr.  Rylands  come  back  for  Lis 
goloshes,"  said  Sylvia.  At  the  same  moment 
Dicky  and  his  father  appeared,  descending  the 
staircase  together. 

"And  the  next  article,  madam?"  continued 
Dick  lustily,  addressing  Mrs.  Carmyle,  who 
stood  below. 

He  was  answered,  not  by  the  lady  to  whom  his 
query  was  addressed,  but  by  Milroy,  who  ap- 
peared holding  back  one  of  the  curtains  which 
covered  the  entrance  to  the  vestibule,  to  an- 
nounce, in  the  resigned  tones  of  a  man  for  whom 
life  holds  no  further  surprises :  — 

"Mr.  Percy  Welwyn!" 

ii 

Mr.  Percy  Welwyn  entered.  He  was  a  slender 
young  man  with  an  insufficient  chin  and  a  small 
moustache.  He  looked  like  a  shop  assistant;  and 
Dicky's  last  remark,  still  ringing  through  the 
hall,  emphasised  rather  than  suggested  the  com- 
parison. His  hair  was  brushed  low  down  upon 
his  forehead,  with  an  elaborate  curl  over  his  right 
eyebrow.  His  eyes  were  bulgy.  He  wore  a  tight- 
fitting  cycling  suit,  splashed  with  mud,  and  car- 
ried in  his  hand  a  small  tweed  cap  bearing  a  metal 
badge.  Altogether  an  impartial  observer  might 
have  been  excused  for  not  feeling  greatly  sur- 
prised that  Dicky  and  Tilly  had  mislaid  him. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT        201 

Mr.  Welwyn  advanced  to  the  fire,  with  the 
easy  grace  of  one  who  is  habitually  a  success  in 
whatever  grade  of  society  he  finds  himself,  and 
remarked:  "Good-evenin',  all!" 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  frozen  silence. 
Then  Dicky  hurried  forward. 

"My  dear  Percy,"  he  exclaimed,  wringing  the 
newcomer  by  the  hand,  "here  you  are,  after  all! 
Dear  old  soul!  Let  me  present  the  rest  of  my 
family." 

He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  the  travel-stained 
cyclist,  and  led  him  towards  the  petrified  Lady 
Adela. 

"Mother,"  he  announced,  "this  is  my  friend 
Percy  Welwyn." 

"Mr.  Percy  Welwyn,"  said  a  gentle  voice  in 
his  ear. 

"Sorry,  old  man!"  said  Dicky  hastily. 

"No  offence  taken,"  Mr.  Welwyn  assured  him, 
"where  none  intended.  This,  I  presume,"  — 
he  waved  his  dripping  tweed  cap  in  the  face  of 
the  speechless  matron  before  him,  —  "is  your 
hostess." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dicky.  "  My  mother,  Lady  Adela 
Main  waring." 

Mr.  Welwyn  shook  hands  affably. 

"How  de  do,  your  ladyship?"  he  said.  "Very 
pleased  to  make  your  ladyship's  acquaintance, 
I'm  sure." 


202  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"And  this,"  continued  Dicky,  swiftly  wheeling 
his  guest  out  of  the  danger  zone,  "is  my  old 
Dad." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Welwyn?"  said  Mr. 
Main  waring,  with  a  courteous  little  bow.  "We 
make  you  welcome." 

"  How  de  do,  your  lordship?  "  replied  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn, repeating  his  hand-shaking  performance. 
"Very  pleased  to  make  your  lordship's  ac- 
quaintance." 

"That's  an  error  on  your  part,  Percy,"  said 
Dicky  smoothly.  "Dad's  only  a  commoner. 
But  we'll  work  it  out  afterwards.  This  is  my 
little  sister  Sylvia." 

Mr.  Welwyn  greeted  the  statuesque  Miss 
Mainwaring  as  he  had  greeted  her  parents, 
throwing  in  an  ingratiating  ogle  which  plainly 
intimated  that  he  intended  to  make  an  impres- 
sion in  this  quarter. 

"Very  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
Miss,"  he  said.  "We  shall  be  calling  each  other 
Perce  and  Sylvie  in  no  time,  I  can  see.  And  now," 
he  continued,  turning  his  back  upon  the  quiver- 
ing figure  of  his  future  playmate,  "I  should  like 
to  address  a  few  observations  to  the  happy  couple. 
You're  a  nice  pair  of  turtle-doves  to  come  and 
play  gooseberry  to,  I  don't  suppose !  Here  I  give 
up  a  whole  Saturday  afternoon  to  come  and 
chaperon  our  Tilly  and  her  young  gentleman 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT       203 

down  to  his  ancestral  home;  and  the  first  thing 
I  know  is  the  pair  of  them  give  me  the  slip  at 
Waterloo!  Chronic,  I  call  it!" 

"What  else  did  you  expect,  Mr.  Welwyn?" 
interposed  Connie,  coming  characteristically  to 
the  rescue,  the  majority  of  the  Mainwaring 
family  being  in  no  condition  to  cope  with 
Percy.  "Have  n't  you  ever  been  engaged  your- 
self?" 

Her  unsolicited  intrusion  into  the  conversa- 
tion was  plainly  a  shock  to  Percy's  sense  of 
decorum.  He  coughed  reprovingly  behind  his 
hand,  and  turning  to  Dicky,  remarked:  — 

"Introdooce  me!" 

Dicky,  humble  and  apologetic,  complied. 
Mr.  Welwyn  went  through  his  usual  performance, 
and  continued :  — 

"Engaged,  Mrs.  Carmyle?  Not  me!  Not 
that  I  might  n't  have  bin,  mark  you,  if  I  had  n't 
been  born  careful.  Be  born  careful,  and  you 
need  n't  be  born  lucky.  The  Proverbs  of  Perce 
—  Number  one!"  he  added,  in  a  humorous  aside. 
"Well,  to  resume.  Luckily  I  had  the  old  push- 
bike  with  me,  and  I  managed  to  find  my  way 
down  here  in  a  matter  of  an  hour  and  a  half  or 
so.  And  then  what  happens?  Just  as  I  am  doing 
a  final  spin  up  your  kerridge-drive,  your  lady- 
ship —  bing !  bang !  and  I  get  bowled  over  in  the 
dark  by  a  charging  rhinoceros!" 


204  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Mr.  Welwyn  concluded  this  dramatic  narra- 
tive with  a  few  appropriate  gestures,  and  paused 
to  note  its  effect  upon  his  auditors. 

"That  was  Maximilian,  I  fancy,"  explained 
Dicky  cheerfully.  "The  little  fellow  must  have 
got  loose.  Did  you  notice  which  way  he  was 
going?" 

"I  did,"  replied  Percy  with  feeling.  "He  was 
going  the  opposite  way  to  me." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Dicky  reflectively,  "he 
must  be  halfway  back  to  mother  by  this  time. 
Well,  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  Did  you  happen 
to  observe  whether  he  had  the  rain-gauge  with 
him?" 

"All  I  remarked,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn  bit- 
terly, "was  about  half  a  mudguard.  But  that," 
he  continued,  with  a  winning  smile  to  the  ladies, 
"is  neither  here  nor  there,  is  it?  Seeing  as  you 
are  safe,  Tilly,  old  girl,  I  think  I  may  now  resign 
the  post  of  chaperon  into  her  ladyship's  hands. 
And  perhaps,"  he  added  with  a  graceful  bow, 
"I  may  be  permitted  to  remark  that  in  my  hum- 
ble opinion  a  more  capable  pair  of  hands  could 
not  be  found  for  the  job." 

Lady  Adela  had  suffered  severely  that  day,  and 
her  spirit  for  the  time  being  was  almost  broken. 
She  merely  smiled  weakly. 

Mr.  Welwyn,  now  at  the  very  top  of  his  form, 
struck  an  attitude. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT       205 

"My  trusty  iron  steed,"  he  declaimed,  "waits 
without  the  battlements  —  all  but  a  few  spokes, 
that  is,  accounted  for  by  the  aforesaid  rhinoceros 
—  and  I  must  hence,  to  ketch  the  seven-fifteen 
back  to  Londinium." 

"Does  that  mean  he  is  going?"  murmured 
Lady  Adela  to  her  daughter,  with  a  flutter  of 
hope  upon  her  drawn  features. 

Sylvia  was  nodding  reassuringly,  when  the 
tactless  Dicky  broke  in :  — 

"Percy,  old  son,  you  really  must  stay  for  din- 
ner, if  not  for  the  night." 

"We  can't  send  you  away  empty  in  weather 
like  this,  Mr.  Welwyn,"  added  Mr.  Mainwaring 
hospitably.  "  My  dear  —  " 

He  turned  to  his  wife,  but  the  words  froze  upon 
his  lips,  for  Lady  Adela  presented  an  appearance 
that  can  only  be  described  as  terrible.  But  the 
impervious  Percy  noticed  nothing. 

"By  my  halidom,"  he  exclaimed,  highly  grati- 
fied, "that  was  well  spoken!  Yet  it  cannot  be. 
I  thank  you,  ladies  and  gentles  all,  for  your 
courtly  hospitality;  but,  as  the  bard  observes: 
'  I  must  get  home  to-night ! ' '  (Here  he  broke 
into  song,  and  indulged  in  what  are  known  in 
theatrical  circles  as  "a  few  steps.")  "The  club 
has  an  important  run  billed  for  to-morrow,  and 
if  little  Percy  is  missing,  there  will  be  enquiries. 
Still,  rather  than  disoblige,  I'll  split  the  differ- 


206  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ence.  I  will  drain  a  stirrup-cup  of  foaming  Bass 
with  ye  ere  I  depart.  Then,  forward  across 
the  drawbridge!  Yoicks!  Likewise  Tally  Ho! 
Which  way,  fair  sir,"  concluded  this  high-spir- 
ited youth,  turning  to  his  host,  "to  the  Saloon 
Bar?" 

"Percy,"  remarked  Dicky  hurriedly,  "you  are 
immense!  You  ought  to  go  on  the  Halls.  Come 
along !  This  way ! ' ' 

"I  have  bin  approached,  mind  you,"  began 
the  comedian,  taking  Dicky's  arm,  "but!" 

"Are  you  coming  too,  Tilly?"  asked  Dicky, 
looking  back. 

Tilly,  who  had  been  apprehensively  regarding 
the  flinty  countenances  of  her  future  relatives-in- 
law,  assented  hurriedly  and  gratefully. 

"Yes,  please,"  she  said.  "I  will  come  and  see 
Percy  off." 

She  took  Dicky's  free  arm. 

"T  is  meet  and  fitting,"  observed  the  ebul- 
lient Percy.  "We  will  drain  a  tankard  jointly. 
Right  away!  Pip,  pip!  Good-morrow,  knights 
and  ladies  all!" 

The  trio  disappeared  into  the  dining-room, 
leaving  a  most  uncanny  silence  behind  them! 

Mr.  Mainwaring  hastily  picked  up  the  evening 
paper  and  enshrouded  himself  in  its  folds.  Lady 
Adela  feebly  signalled  to  Sylvia  for  the  smelling- 
salts. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  CHAT       207 

"A  perfectly  appalling  young  man!"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"And  a  perfectly  sweet  little  girl!"  quoth 
loyal  Connie. 


CHAPTER   XV 

A   DAY   OF   CALM   REFLECTION 


AT  half-past  eight  next  morning  Connie  Car- 
myle,  wearing  a  tweed  coat  and  skirt  and  neat 
brown  brogues,  came  whistling  downstairs,  intent 
upon  a  constitutional  before  breakfast. 

Upon  the  sofa  in  front  of  the  hall-fire,  self-con- 
sciously perusing  a  Sunday  newspaper,  sat  a  large 
man  of  slightly  sheepish  appearance.  At  the 
sight  of  Connie  he  rose  guiltily  to  his  feet.  Mrs. 
Carmyle  embraced  him  in  a  motherly  fashion. 

"And  may  I  ask  what  you  are  doing  here,  my 
man?"  she  enquired. 

"Finished  things  off  last  night  after  all," 
replied  her  husband;  "so  thought  I  might  as 
well  run  down  this  morning  and  spend  the 
day." 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Carmyle  wonderingly. 
She  knew  perfectly  well ;  but  being  a  woman  and 
the  possessor  of  an  undemonstrative  husband,  it 
pleased  her  to  spur  him  into  making  an  exhibi- 
tion of  himself. 

"Thought  I  should  like  a  rest,"  said  Mr. 
Carmyle  gruffly.  "Had  a  pretty  tough  week," 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    209 

he  added,  in  a  pusillanimous  attempt  to  excite 
compassion. 

"Is  that  the  only  reason?"  persisted  his 
heartless  spouse. 

"Having  a  wife,  thought  I  might  as  well  come 
and  see  her  for  an  hour  or  two,"  conceded  Car- 
myle  grudgingly. 

"You  must  put  it  better  than  that,  darling," 
said  Connie  inexorably.  "Now,  be  a  little  man! 
You  came  because  —  because  — " 

The  sorely-harrassed  husband,  driven  into  a 
corner,  turned  a  deep  plum-colour. 

"Because  I  love  you!"  he  growled.  "Now 
chuck  it,  Connie,  for  goodness'  sake!" 

He  was  rewarded  by  a  radiant  smile. 

"That  is  much  better,"  said  Connie  approv- 
ingly. "Now  you  shall  have  some  breakfast. 
After  that  I  have  a  great  deal  for  you  to  do." 

"What?" 

"You  can  take  us  for  a  drive  in  the  car." 

"Us?" 

"Yes —  us.  Me,  Dicky,  and  his  fiancee," 
answered  Connie  very  distinctly. 

"Righto!"  replied  this  maddening  man  un- 
concernedly. 

Connie  heaved  a  patient  little  sigh,  and  re- 
peated :  — 
.    "Me,  Dicky,  and  —  his  fiancee." 

This  effort  was  more  successful. 


210  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Righto!"  said  Carmyle  once  more.  "Freak 
engaged  again?"  he  added  as  an  afterthought.  , 

Connie  cast  up  her  eyes  in  a  piteous  fashion, 
as  if  to  imply  that  it  is  better  to  have  a  hus- 
band like  this  than  none  at  all,  and  replied 
resignedly:  — 

"Yes.  It's  a  long  story.  I  wrote  you  a  letter 
about  it  last  night.  Here  it  is  in  the  post-basket. 
Read  it  now;  while  I  run  and  break  the  news 
of  your  visitation  to  Lady  Adela." 

By  the  time  that  Connie  returned,  her  taciturn 
but  capable  husband  had  mastered  the  contents 
of  her  letter  —  parentheses,  italics,  notes  of 
exclamation,  and  all  —  and  was  ready  to  receive 
the  orders  of  the  day. 

"Now,  listen,"  commanded  Connie  swiftly. 
"At  breakfast  you  will  invite  Dicky  and  Tilly 
to  come  for  a  run  in  the  motor.  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  that  girl,  but  I  had  a  long  talk  with 
her  last  night  when  we  were  getting  ready  for 
bed,  and  she  is  the  right  sort.  She  seemed  to  like 
me,  too.  What  did  you  say?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  exasperating  William. 
"Goon." 

"Anyhow,"  continued  Connie,  ignoring  a  mys- 
terious chuckle,  "I  am  not  going  to  have  her 
pumped  and  bullied  by  Lady  Adela  and  Sylvia 
before  she  has  found  her  feet.  Therefore  we  will 
take  her  and  Dicky  away  for  the  day.  Get  your 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    211 

invitation  off  at  breakfast,  before  Lady  Adela 
begins  organising  a  party  for  church.  The  young 
couple  can  have  the  back  seat  to  themselves,  and 
I  will  come  in  front  with  you." 

"Anything  you  like,"  replied  Carmyle  cheer- 
fully. He  had  been  looking  forward  to  an  indolent 
morning  with  Connie  in  the  smoking-room,  for 
he  really  had  had  a  hard  week;  but  he  never  ques- 
tioned the  dispositions  of  the  small  goddess  who 
controlled  his  movements.  Whatever  she  or- 
dained was  right. 

"Thank  you,  Bill  darling!  I  love  you  very 
much." 

Mrs.  Carmyle  stood  upon  tiptoe,  and  with  an 
affectionate  sigh  endeavoured  to  lay  her  head 
upon  her  husband's  left  shoulder.  Mr.  Carmyle 
gave  her  no  assistance.  He  merely  removed  his 
sovereign-purse  with  some  ostentation  from  his 
left-hand  waistcoat-pocket  to  his  right. 

n 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  you  and  I  have 
been  out  in  a  motor  together,  Tilly,"  remarked 
Dicky  a  few  hours  later,  taking  advantage  of  a 
jolt  on  the  part  of  the  car  to  annihilate  a  portion 
of  the  space  which  separated  him  from  his  be- 
loved. 

Tilly,  availing  herself  of  a  margin  which  in- 
stinct and  experience  had  taught  her  to  provide 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

for  such  contingencies  as  this,  moved  a  corres- 
ponding number  of  inches  farther  away,  and 
pointed  out  that  they  had  enjoyed  a  motor-ride 
together  only  three  days  previously. 

"On  a  motor-'bus,"  she  explained. 

"Motor-'bus?  Not  a  bit.  Fairy  coach!"  de- 
clared her  highly  imaginative  swain. 

"Fairy  coaches  don't  as  a  rule  carry  eighteen 
inside  and  twenty-two  outside,  dear,"  replied  the 
matter-of-fact  Miss  Welwyn. 

"No,  you  are  right,"  admitted  Dicky.  "Fairy 
coaches  are  invariably  two-seaters.  This  one 
isn't  a  bad  substitute,  though  —  what?" 

He  lolled  luxuriously,  and  turned  to  survey  the 
profile  beside  him.  Tilly  was  wearing  a  saxe- 
blue  suede  hat,  secured  to  her  head  by  a  filmy 
motor-veil  —  both  the  property  of  the  open- 
handed  Mrs.  Carmyle,  who  was  sitting  in  front 
driving  the  car  under  the  complacent  contempla- 
tion of  her  husband.  The  fur  rug  which  Tilly 
shared  with  Dicky  enveloped  her  to  the  chin :  her 
cheeks  glowed ;  her  lips  were  parted  in  a  smile  of 
utter  content;  and  her  eyes  were  closed.  Dicky 
tried  to  count  the  long  lashes  that  swept  her 
cheek.  She  was  his !  His  —  to  keep,  to  cherish, 
to  protect,  to  pamper,  to  spoil !  Something  very 
tremendous  stirred  within  him  —  something  that 
had  never  found  a  place  in  that  receptive  and 
elastic  organ,  his  heart,  before.  All  the  dormant 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    213 

tenderness  and  chivalry  of  his  nature  seemed  to 
heap  itself  up  into  a  mighty  tidal  wave,  topple 
over,  and  inundate  his  very  soul.  Foolish  tears 
came  into  his  eyes.  Very  reverently  he  reached 
for  Tilly's  hand  under  the  rug.  She  surrendered 
it,  smiling  lazily,  without  raising  her  lashes. 
Dicky  wondered  what  she  was  thinking  about. 

Tilly,  on  her  part,  was  trying  to  summon  up 
courage  to  tell  him. 

By  this  time  the  car  had  cleared  the  village  of 
Shotley  Beauchamp,  filled  with  parties  of  wor- 
shippers hastening  in  what  Connie  described  as 
"rival  directions,"  and  was  spinning  along  the 
open  road  bound  for  the  Surrey  hills.  It  was  a 
crisp  and  sunny  morning.  There  was  a  touch 
of  spring  in  the  air,  quickening  the  pulse. 

"I  wonder,"  began  Dicky,  whose  conversation 
at  this  period,  like  that  of  all  healthy  young  men 
in  a  similar  condition,  wandered  round  in  a  clearly 
defined  and  most  constricted  circle,  "if  I  had  not 
had  that  row  with  the  umbrella-merchant  on  the 
top  of  the  Piccadilly  'bus,  whether  you  and  I 
would  ever  — " 

Bang ! 

Mr.  Carmyle  said  something  distressingly  aud- 
ible. Mrs.  Carmyle  applied  the  brakes;  and  the 
car,  bumping  uncomfortably,  came  to  a  stand- 
still at  the  side  of  the  road,  under  the  lee  of  a  pine 
wood. 


214  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Was  that  your  collar-stud  at  last,  Tiny,  old 
man?"  enquired  The  Freak  anxiously. 

"Back  tyre,"  replied  Mr.  Carmyle  shortly, 
disencumbering  himself  of  his  rug. 

They  stepped  out  upon  the  muddy  road  and 
examined  the  off-hind  wheel.  The  tyre  was  flat, 
but  apparently  whole. 

"It  is  the  valve,"  announced  Carmyle,  after 
unscrewing  the  dust-cap.  "  Blown  himself  clean 
out  of  bed.  That  means  a  fresh  inner  tube.  And 
I  lent  the  Stepney  wheel  to  a  broken-down  car 
coming  along  this  morning!" 

"Bad  luck!"  said  Dicky  speciously,  glancing 
up  at  the  pine  wood.  "Can  Tilly  and  I  help?" 

"No,  better  run  away  and  play." 

Dicky  and  Tilly,  without  further  insincerities, 
obeyed  at  once. 

"I  fear  you  will  besmirch  yourself,  comrade," 
said  Dicky  over  his  shoulder,  as  they  departed. 

"Bet  you  half-a-crown  I  don't  even  dirty  my 
gloves,"  replied  Carmyle. 

"No:  you'll  take  them  off,"  replied  the  astute 
Richard. 

"No,  kid!"  persisted  Carmyle.  "I  undertake 
to  get  a  new  inner  tube  put  into  this  tyre  without 
laying  a  finger  on  it.  Is  it  a  bet?" 

"Is  Connie  going  to  do  it?"  asked  Dicky 
incredulously. 

"  She  is  and  she  is  n't.   She  won't  lay  a  finger 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    215 

on  the  tyre  either,  though.  Will  you  stake  your 
half-crown  like  a  man?" 

"I  suppose  there  is  a  catch  about  it  some- 
where," said  The  Freak  resignedly.  "Still,  I 
fancy  we  must  humour  the  young  people,  Tilly. 
All  right,  my  lad." 

Mr.  Carmyle  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Show  them,  Connie,"  he  said. 

His  dutiful  helpmeet  selected  a  large  tyre- 
lever,  and  sitting  down  in  the  midst  of  the  King's 
highway  upon  the  tool-box,  in  a  position  which 
combined  the  maximum  of  discomfort  with  the 
minimum  of  leverage,  began  to  pick  helplessly 
at  the  rim  of  the  wheel.  Occasionally  she  looked 
up  and  smiled  pathetically. 

"Will  that  do,  Bill  dear?"  she  enquired. 

"Yes;  but  try  and  look  a  bit  more  of  an  idiot." 

Mrs.  Carmyle  complied. 

"Now  you're  overdoing  it,"  said  her  stage- 
manager  severely.  "Don't  loll  your  tongue  out 
like  a  poodle's !  That 's  better.  Hallo,  I  believe 
I  can  hear  a  car  already !  Come  on,  you  two  — 
into  this  wood!" 

Next  moment  Tilly,  beginning  dimly  to  com- 
prehend, was  propelled  over  a  split-rail  fence 
by  two  muscular  gentlemen  and  bustled  into  the 
fastnesses  of  the  pine  wood.  The  Casabianca-like 
Connie  remained  in  an  attitude  of  appealing  help- 
lessness upon  the  tool-box. 


216  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  pine  wood  ran  up  the  side  of  a  hill.  The 
trio  climbed  a  short  distance,  and  then  turned 
to  survey  the  scene  below  them.  Round  the  bend 
of  the  road  came  a  car  —  a  bulky,  heavy,  opulent 
limousine,  going  thirty-five  miles  an  hour,  and 
carrying  a  cargo  of  fur  coats  and  diamonds. 

"Rolls-Royce.  Something-in-the-City  going 
down  to  lunch  at  Brighton,"  commented  Dicky. 
"That's  the  wrong  sort,  anyhow." 

"Connie  will  be  run  over,"  cried  Tilly  appre- 
hensively. 

"Not  she,"  replied  the  callous  Carmyle. 

He  was  right.  Connie,  diagnosing  the  charac- 
ter of  the  approaching  vehicle  from  afar,  had 
already  stepped  round  to  the  near  side  of  her  own, 
escaping  a  shower  bath  of  mud  and  possibly  a 
compound  fracture. 

"Do  you  always  get  your  running  repairs 
done  this  way,  Tiny?"  enquired  Dicky  of 
Carmyle. 

"As  a  rule.  Connie  loves  it.  Gives  her  a  chance 
of  talking  prettily  to  people  and  smiling  upon 
them,  and  all  that.  She  thinks  her  smile  is  her 
strong  point." 

"I  should  be  afraid,"  said  Tilly. 

"  Connie  is  afraid  of  nothing  on  earth,"  said 
Carmyle.  "  Why,  she  -  "he  flushed  red  and 
broke  off,  realizing  that  heliad  been  guilty  of  the 
solecism  of  paying  a  public  tribute  to  his  own 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    217 

wife.  "Here's  another  car  coming,"  he  said. 
"This  looks  more  like  what  we  want." 

A  long,  lean,  two-seated  apparition,  with  a  bon- 
net like  the  bow  of  a  battleship,  had  swung  round 
the  bend,  and  was  already  slowing  down  at  the 
spectacle  of  beauty  in  distress.  It  contained  two 
goggled  and  recumbent  figures.  Presently  it  slid 
to  a  standstill  beside  the  stranded  car,  and  its 
occupants  leaped  eagerly  forth. 

"  Metallurgique,1  twenty-forty,"  announced 
Dicky,  with  technical  precision. 

"  Undergraduates — or  subalterns,"  added  Car- 
myle  contentedly,  beginning  to  fill  his  pipe. 
"That's  all  right.  You  two  had  better  go  for  a 
little  walk,  while  I  stay  here  and  keep  an  eye  on 
the  breakdown  gang." 

He  produced  from  his  greatcoat  pocket  a  copy 
of  "The  Sunday  Times,"  and  having  spread  it 
on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a  convenient  tree, 
sat  down  upon  it  with  every  appearance  of  cheer- 
ful anticipation,  already  intent  upon  the,  to  him, 
never-palling  spectacle  of  his  wife  adding  further 
scalps  to  her  collection. 

Dicky  and  Tilly,  nothing  loath,  wandered  far- 
ther along  the  hillside,  under  strict  injunctions 
not  to  return  for  twenty  minutes.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  they  had  found  themselves  alone  since 
their  arrival  on  the  previous  evening,  and  they 
had  long  arrears  of  sweet  counsel  to  make  up. 


218  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Dicky,"  said  Tilly,  suddenly  breaking  one  of 
those  long  silences  that  all  lovers  know,  "have 
you  ever  —  loved  any  one  before  me?" 

Most  men  are  asked  this  question  at  some  time 
in  their  lives,  and  few  there  be  that  have  ever 
answered  it  without  some  mental  reservation. 
But  The  Freak  merely  looked  surprised  — 
almost  hurt. 

"  Loved  any  one  before  ?  I  should  think  I  had ! " 
he  replied.  "  Who  has  n't?  " 

"I  have  n't,"  said  Tilly, 

Dicky  was  quite  prepared  for  this. 

"I  meant  men  —  not  girls,"  he  said.  "Girls 
are  different.  Not  that  some  of  them  don't  fall 
in  and  out  of  love  rather  easily,  but  they  only  do 
it  as  a  sort  of  pleasant  emotional  exercise.  The 
average  male  lover,  however  youthful,  means 
business  all  the  time.  Quite  right,  too!  It  is  a 
healthy  masculine  instinct  for  an  Englishman  to 
want  to  found  a  household  of  his  own  just  as  soon 
as  he  grows  up.  But  it  is  this  very  instinct  which 
often  sends  him  after  the  wrong  girl.  He  is  full  of 
natural  affection  and  sentiment,  and  so  on,  and 
he  wants  some  one  to  pour  it  out  upon.  So  he 
picks  out  the  first  nice  girl  he  meets,  endows  her 
in  his  mind  with  all  the  virtues,  and  tries  to  marry 
her.  Usually  it  comes  to  nothing  —  the  girl  sees 
to  that;  for  she  is  gifted  by  nature  with  a  power 
of  selection  denied  to  men  —  and  in  any  case  it 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    219 

is  hardly  likely  that  he  will  meet  the  right  girl 
straight  off.  So  he  goes  on  seeking  for  his  mate, 
this  child  of  nature,  in  a  groping,  instinctive 
sort  of  way,  until  at  last  he  finds  his  pearl  of 
great  price.  Then  he  sells  all  that  he  has,  which 
being  interpreted  means  that  he  straightway 
forgets  all  about  every  other  girl  he  ever  knew, 
and  loves  his  Pearl  forever  and  ever.  Therefore, 
Tilly,  if  ever  a  man  comes  to  you  and  tells  you 
that  you  are  the  only  girl  he  ever  loved,  trust 
him  not.  It  is  not  likely.  It  is  against  nature." 

"A  girl  likes  to  believe  it,  all  the  same,  dear," 
answered  Tilly,  voicing  an  age-long  truth. 

"I  don't  see  why  she  should,"  argued  the 
ingenious  Dicky.  "  It  is  no  compliment  to  be  loved 
by  a  man  who  has  had  no  experience.  Now  7  can 
love  and  appreciate  you  properly,  because  I  am 
able  to  compare  you  with  about"  —  he  counted 
upon  his  fingers,  finally  having  recourse  to  a  sup- 
plementary estimate  on  his  waistcoat-buttons 
—  "with  about  fourteen  other  ladies,  of  all  ages, 
whom  I  have  admired  at  one  time  and  another; 
and  can  unhesitatingly  place  you  in  Class  One, 
Division  One,  all  by  your  own  dear  self,  so  far  as 
they  are  concerned.  Is  n't  that  something?" 

But  Tilly  was  not  quite  satisfied. 

"I  should  like  to  feel,"  she  said,  instinctively 
giving  utterance  to  that  point  of  view  which 
makes  a  woman's  love  such  an  intensely  personal 


220  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

and  jealously  exacting  thing  in  comparison  with 
a  man's,  "that  you  could  never  have  been  happy 
with  any  woman  in  the  world  but  me.  Could 
you,  Dicky?" 

Dicky  pondered. 

"It  depends,"  he  said,  "on  what  you  mean  by 
happy.  Our  measure  of  happiness,  it  seems  to  me, 
depends  entirely  on  what  we  have  compared 
with  what  we  want.  If  I  had  never  met  you,  I 
could  never  have  missed  you ;  and  so  I  dare  say 
I  might  have  settled  down  happily  enough  —  or 
what  I  considered  happily  enough  —  with  some 
other  girl.  But  that  is  impossible  now.  I  have 
met  you,  you  see.  If  I  were  to  lose  you  "  —  Tilly 
caught  her  breath  sharply  —  "no  one  else  could 
ever  take  your  place.  Love  like  ours  makes  all 
substitutes  tasteless  and  colourless,  as  they  say 
in  chemical  laboratories.  You  have  raised  my 
standard  of  love  so  high  that  no  one  but  yourself 
can  ever  attain  to  it.  So,"  concluded  the  philos- 
opher, with  a  smile  which  brought  more  happi- 
ness and  reassurance  into  Tilly's  heart  than  all 
the  laborious  logic-chopping  in  the  world  could 
have  done,  "though  I  don't  know  that  I  never 
could  have  been  happy  with  any  one  but  you,  I 
can  truly  say  this,  that  I  never  can  be  happy 
with  any  one  but  you.  It's  merely  a  matter  of 
the  difference  between  two  conditional  sentences, 
that's  all." 


A  DAY  OF -CALM  REFLECTION    221 

But  a  girl  talking  with  her  lover  is  not  inter- 
ested in  points  of  syntax. 

"And  will  you  go  on  loving  me?"  asked  Tilly, 
putting  a  small  but  unerring  finger  upon  the  joint 
in  Dicky's  harness. 

Dicky  glanced  down  upon  the  eager,  wistful 
face  beside  him,  and  smiled  whimsically. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "your  fears  are  groundless." 

"How  do  you  know?"  enquired  Madam,  con- 
vinced in  her  heart,  but  anxious  to  be  reassured. 

"Because,"  said  Dicky  simply,  "you  love  me. 
You  have  said  it.  Don't  you  see  how  that  binds 
me  to  you?  The  mere  fact  of  your  love  for  me 
makes  mine  for  you  imperishable.  The  moment 
a  man  discovers  that  the  woman  he  loves  loves 
him  in  return,  he  is  hers,  body  and  soul.  Previous 
to  that  something  has  held  him  back.  Pride  — 
reserve — caution  —  call  it  what  you  like  —  it  has 
held  him  back.  He  has  not  let  himself  go  utterly. 
After  all,  we  can  only  give  of  our  best  once  in  this 
life,  and  usually  some  instinct  inside  us  makes  us 
refuse  to  surrender  that  best,  however  prodigal 
we  may  have  been  of  the  inferior  article,  until 
we  know  that  we  are  going  to  get  the  best  in 
return."  Dicky  was  talking  very  earnestly  now. 
"I  have  been  keeping  my  best  for  you  all  these 
years,  little  maid,  though  neither  of  us  knew  it. 
Such  as  it  is,  you  have  it.  That  is  why  I  know 
I  can  never  go  back  on  you.  Besides,  what  man 


222  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

worthy  of  the  name  could  let  a  girl  down,  once 
she  had  abandoned  her  reserve  —  her  beauti- 
ful woman's  reserve  —  and  confessed  her  great 
secret  to  him?  Why,  I  once  nearly  married  a  girl 
whom  I  could  not  stand  at  any  price,  just  because 
the  little  idiot  gave  herself  away  one  day  when 
we  were  alone  together. " 

"Why  should  you  have  married  her,"  asked 
single-minded,  feminine  Tilly  wonderingly,  "if 
you  did  n't  love  her?  " 

"It  seemed  so  mean  not  to,"  said  Dicky. 

Tilly  nodded  her  head  gravely. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  understand." 
(As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  not.  To  her,  as  to 
most  women,  such  a  quixotic  piece  of  folly  as 
that  to  which  Dicky  had  just  confessed  was  in- 
comprehensible. But  she  desired  to  please  her 
lover.)  "It  was  like  you  to  do  it,  but  I  hate  the 
girl.  I  expect  she  was  a  designing  minx.  But  go 
on,  dear.  Go  on  convincing  me.  I  love  it.  Say 
it  over  and  over  again. " 

"Say  what?"  enquired  Dicky,  who  was  not 
aware  that  he  had  been  saying  anything  unusual. 

"Pearls,  and  things  like  that,"  replied  Tilly 
shyly. 

"Oh!"  said  Dicky  dubiously,  "  that  takes  a  bit 
of  doing.  Wait  a  minute!" 

Tilly  obediently  refrained  from  speech  while 
her  beloved  dredged  his  imagination  for  further 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    223 

metaphors.  They  were  a  curiously  old-fashioned 
couple,  these  two.  That  uncanny  blend  of  off- 
hand camaraderie  and  jealously  guarded  inde- 
pendence which  constitutes  a  modern  engagement 
meant  nothing  to  them.  They  loved  one  another 
heart  and  soul,  and  were  not  in  the  least  ashamed 
of  saying  so. 

Presently  Dicky  took  up  his  parable. 

"Hearken,  O  my  Daughter,"  he  began  char- 
acteristically, "to  the  words  of  the  Prophet. 
Behold,  I  tell  you  an  allegory!  Do  you  know 
what  riveting  is?" 

"  No,  dear.  Women  don't  understand  machin- 
ery," replied  Tilly  resignedly,  in  the  tones  of  a 
young  mother  threatened  with  an  exposition  of 
the  mechanism  of  her  firstborn's  clockwork 
engine. 

"Well,  a  rivet,"  pursued  the  Prophet,  "is  a 
metal  thing  like  a  small  mushroom.  It  is  used 
for  binding  steel  plates  together,  and  requires 
two  people  to  handle  it  properly.  First  of  all 
the  rivet  is  heated  red-hot,  and  then  a  grimy 
man  (called  the  holder-on)  pops  the  stalk  of  the 
mushroom  into  a  hole  bored  through  two  over- 
lapping plates  and  keeps  the  little  fellow  in  posi- 
tion with  a  sort  of  gripping-machine,  while  an- 
other grimy  man  (called  the  riveter)  whangs  his 
end  of  the  stalk  with  a  sledge-hammer.  That 
punches  the  poor  little  rivet  into  the  shape  of  a 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

double  mushroom,  and  the  two  plates  are  gripped 
together  for  good  and  all." 

Tilly  nodded  her  head.  The  allegory  was  begin- 
ning to  emerge  from  a  cloud  of  incorrect  techni- 
cal detail. 

"Now  it  seems  to  me,"  continued  Dicky, 
"  that  love  is  very  like  that.  Men  are  the  holders- 
on  and  women  the  riveters.  I  have  occupied  the 
position  of  holder-on  several  times  in  my  life. 
I  fancy  most  men  do :  it  is  their  nature  to  experi- 
ment. (I  have  also  had  the  post  of  riveter  thrust 
upon  me,  but  we  need  not  talk  about  that.  One 
tries  to  forget  these  things  as  soon  as  possible," 
he  added,  with  a  little  wriggle.)  "But  the  point 
which  I  want  to  bring  out  is  this  —  a  rivet  can 
only  be  used  once.  It  may  be  slipped  through 
various  plates  by  its  holder-on  in  a  happy-go- 
lucky  sort  of  way  over  and  over  again ;  but  once  it 
meets  the  hammer  fairly,  good-bye  to  its  career 
as  a  gallivanting,  peripatetic  little  rivet!  It  is 
spread-eagled  in  a  moment,  Tilly  —  fixed,  se- 
cured, and  settled  for  life.  And  if  it  is  the  right 
stuff,  sound  metal  all  through,  it  will  never 
wriggle  or  struggle  or  endeavour  to  back  upon  its 
appointed  task  of  holding  together  its  two  steel 
plates.  It  won't  want  to.  It  will  endure  so  long  as 
the  two  plates  endure.  Nothing  can  shake  him, 
that  little  rivet  —  nothing !  Poverty,  sickness, 
misunderstanding,  outside  interference  —  noth- 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    225 

ing  will  have  any  effect.  That  is  the  allegory. 
The  wanderings  of  Dicky  Mainwaring  are  over. 
He  has  flitted  about  long  enough,  poking  his 
inquisitive  little  head  into  places  that  were  not 
intended  for  him;  and  he  has  come  to  the  right 
place  at  last.  One  neat  straight  crack  on  his  im- 
pressionable little  cranium,  and  the  deed  is  done ! 
The  Freak's  place  in  life  is  fixed  at  last.  Mutual 
love  has  double-ended  him,  and  he  is  going  to 
hold  on  now  for  keeps." 

Dicky  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  No  one  but  you  could  have  dealt  that  stroke, 
Tilly,  or  I  should  have  been  fixed  up  long  ago. 
I  could  never  have  remained  engaged  to  Hilda 
Beverley,  for  instance.  She  was  a  fine  girl,  but 
she  did  not  happen  to  be  my  riveter  or  I  her 
holder-on  —  that 's  all.  I  should  have  dropped 
out  of  my  place  at  the  first  rattle.  Lucky  little 
rivet !  Some  poor  beggars  don't  get  off  so  cheap. 
They  pop  their  impulsive  little  heads  into  the 
first  opening,  and  never  come  out  again.  But 
Providence  has  been  good  to  me,  Freak  though 
I  am.  I  have  come  safe  through,  to  the  spot 
where  the  Only  Possible  Riveter  in  the  World 
was  waiting  for  me.  Here  we  are  together  at  last, 
settled  for  life.  Launch  the  ship!  Ting-a-lingl 
Full  speed  ahead !  I  have  spoken !  What  are  you 
trembling  for,  little  thing?" 


226  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"I  was  only  thinking,"  replied  Miss  Welwyn 
shakily,  "how  awful  it  would  have  been  if  one  of 
the  other  girls  had  been  a  better  riveter."  Then 
she  took  a  deep  breath  as  of  resolution. 

"Dicky,"  she  began,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  something.  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  — 

But  as  she  spoke,  the  figure  of  Mr.  Carmyle, 
heralded  by  unnecessary  but  well-intentioned 
symptoms  of  what  sounded  like  a  deep-seated 
affection  of  the  lungs,  appeared  among  the  trees, 
and  announced :  — 

"  Off  directly,  you  two !  Connie  is  just  having 
a  last  farewell  with  her  mechanics.  She  has  col- 
lected quite  a  bunch  of  them  by  this  time." 

"They  have  n't  taken  long  over  the  job,"  said 
Dicky,  in  a  slightly  injured  tone. 

Carmyle,  who  too  had  once  dwelt  in  Arcady, 
smiled. 

"An  hour  and  ten  minutes,"  he  said  concisely. 

Dicky  and  Tilly  said  no  more,  but  meekly 
uprose  from  the  fallen  tree  upon  which  they 
had  been  sitting  and  accompanied  their  host  to 
the  road. 

All  signs  of  disaster  had  disappeared.  The 
punctured  back  tyre  stood  up  once  more,  fully 
inflated ;  the  tool-box  had  been  repacked  and  put 
away;  and  Connie,  smiling  indulgently,  sat  wait- 
ing at  the  wheel.  Far  away  in  the  distance  could 
be  descried  two  other  cars,  rapidly  receding 


A  DAY  OF  CALM  REFLECTION    227 

from  view.  They  contained  in  all  five  knights  of 
the  road  —  grotesquely  attired  and  extremely 
muddy,  but  very  perfect  gentle  knights  after 
their  kind  —  who  were  now  endeavouring,  in 
defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  land,  to  overtake  the 
time  lost  by  their  recent  excursion  into  the  realms 
of  romantic  adventure;  all  wishing  in  their  hearts, 
I  dare  swear,  that  life's  highway  contained  a  few 
more  such  halts  as  this. 

"  Connie  is  going  to  write  a  book  one  day," 
observed  Mr.  Carmyle,  as  they  climbed  into  the 
car,  "  called  '  Hims  Who  Have  Helped  Me/  All 
right  behind  there?" 

The  car  set  off  once  more. 

in 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  uneventfully,  and 
as  it  was  spent  a  quatre  need  not  be  described 
at  length. 

They  sped  home  in  the  gathering  darkness  of 
a  frosty  evening.  Connie,  who  had  relinquished 
the  wheel  to  her  husband,  with  instructions  to 
get  the  car  home  as  speedily  as  possible  —  she 
had  not  forgotten  her  promise  to  go  and  hear  Mr. 
Rylands's  evening  sermon — now  shared  the  back 
seat  with  Tilly;  and  the  two  ladies  snuggled  con- 
tentedly together  under  the  warm  rug,  silently 
contemplating  the  outlines  of  their  squires  against 
the  wintry  sky. 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  car  swung  in  at  the  lodge  gates  and  began 
to  run  along  the  crackling  gravel  of  the  drive. 
Presently,  as  they  rounded  a  bend,  the  lights 
of  the  house  sprang  into  view. 

"Tea  —  and  a  big  fire!"  murmured  Connie 
contentedly. 

To  Tilly  the  sight  of  the  house  suggested  other 
thoughts.  Suddenly  she  removed  her  gaze  from 
Dicky's  broad  back  and  slipped  a  cold  hand  into 
Connie's. 

"Will  they  try  to  take  him  from  me?"  she 
whispered  passionately. 

One  of  Connie  Carmyle's  many  gifts  was  her 
ability  to  catch  an  allusion  without  tiresome  ex- 
planations. Straightway  she  turned  and  looked 
deep  into  the  appealing  grey  eyes  beside  her. 
Her  own  brown  ones  glowed  indomitably. 

"If  they  do,  dear,"  she  answered  —  "fight 
for  him." 

"I  will,"  said  Tilly,  setting  her  teeth. 

The  two  girls  gripped  hands  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN   IMPOSSIBLE   FAMILY 

AMELIA  WELWYN,  grievously  overweighted  by 
a  tray  containing  her  father's  breakfast,  tacked 
unsteadily  across  the  floor  of  the  drawing-room 
at  Russell  Square;  and,  having  reached  the  door 
of  her  parent's  bedroom,  proceeded  to  arouse 
the  attention  of  its  occupant  by  permitting  the 
teapot  to  toboggan  heavily  into  one  of  the 
panels. 

"Don't  come  in!"  said  a  muffled  voice. 

"  Half-past  eleven,  Daddy,"  announced  Amelia 
cheerily.  "Your  breakfast!" 

"In  the  fender,  my  child,"  replied  the  voice. 

Amelia  obediently  put  over  her  helm,  and 
despite  a  heavy  list  to  starboard  induced  by  a 
sudden  shifting  of  ballast  (in  the  form  of  the  hot- 
water  jug)  ultimately  weathered  the  sofa  and 
deposited  the  breakfast  tray  in  the  fender,  with- 
out throwing  overboard  anything  of  greater 
moment  than  a  piece  of  buttered  toast. 

By  the  fireside,  in  a  very  large  armchair,  sat 
a  small,  alert,  wizened,  and  querulous  old  lady 
of  eighty-one. 

"Cup  of  tea,  Grannie?"  said  Amelia. 


230  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"What's  that?"  enquired  Mrs.  Josiah  Banks 
—  late  of  Bedfordshire  (or  Cambridgeshire). 

"  Will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea? "  repeated  the 
child  in  a  louder  voice. 

"No,"  replied  her  aged  relative;  "I  won't." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Amelia  good-temper- 
edly.  "  Now  you  two,  not  so  much  of  it,  if  you 
please!" 

This  warning  was  addressed  to  her  younger 
brother  and  sister,  who,  together  with  herself, 
had  joined  the  Welwyn  family  at  a  date  subse- 
quent to  that  upon  which  we  first  made  its  ac- 
quaintance. Amelia  was  twelve  years  of  age,  The 
Caution  five,  and  The  Cure  some  twenty  minutes 
younger.  At  present  the  latter  young  lady,  in 
the  course  of  a  life-and-death  struggle  for  the 
possession  of  the  jettisoned  piece  of  buttered 
toast,  had  become  involved  in  an  embrace  with 
her  brother,  so  involved  that  it  seemed  as  if  no 
one  unfamiliar  with  the  use  of  letter-locks  could 
ever  unravel  them.  However,  the  experienced 
Amelia  succeeded ;  and  having  shaken  the  skirts 
of  The  Cure  a  little  lower  and  pulled  the  knicker- 
bockers of  The  Caution  a  little  higher,  dumped 
both  combatants  upon  the  sofa  and  divided 
the  now  hopelessly  mangled  booty  between 
them. 

"And  don't  let  me  catch  you  at  it  again,"  she 
added  magisterially.  "Only  Monday  morning, 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         231 

and  your  pinnies  no  more  use  than  nothing! 
Come  in!" 

At  the  sight  of  the  figure  which  appeared  in 
the  doorway  in  response  to  this  invitation  The 
Caution  and  The  Cure  set  up  a  combined  howl 
of  apprehension,  only  to  be  quelled  by  a  dole  of 
lump-sugar  —  hush-money  in  the  most  literal 
sense  of  the  word  —  supplied  by  the  resourceful 
Amelia. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Mehta  Ram!  What  can  we  do 
for  you  this  morning?  "  she  enquired  maternally. 
" Never  mind  those  two"  —  indicating  the  quak- 
ing infants  on  the  sofa.  "It's  their  consciences, 
that's  all.  You  see,  I  always  threaten  to  give 
them  to  you  when  they  are  naughty,  and  now 
they  think  that  you  have  really  come  for  them. 
It's  all  right,"  she  added,  turning  reassuringly 
to  the  culprits.  "Mr.  Ram  won't  eat  you  this 
time." 

Benevolent  Mr.  Mehta  Ram  beamed  upon  the 
chubby  buccaneers  through  his  gold  spectacles. 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Amelia,"  he  replied,  "I 
could  cherish  no  cannibalistic  designs  upon  such 
jolly  kids.  Is  your  excellent  mother  within  her 
domicile,  or  has  she  gone  for  a  tata?"  (Mr. 
Ram  prided  himself  upon  his  knowledge  of 
colloquial  English.) 

"She  is  out  —  shopping.  Tell  me  your  trou- 
ble," said  businesslike  Amelia. 


232  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"I  came  here,"  began  the  Bengalee,  "to 
address  your  mother  in  her  offeecial  capacity." 

"I  know,"  said  Amelia  swiftly.  "It  was  that 
kipper  you  had  for  breakfast.  I  thought  it  was 
wearing  a  worried  look  while  mother  was  cook- 
ing it.  Well,  you  shan't  be  charged  for  it." 

Mr.  Mehta  Ram  waved  a  fat  and  deprecating 
hand. 

"Far  be  it  from  me,"  he  replied,  "to  reflect 
upon  the  culinary  ability  of  your  excellent  mother 
Welwyn.  I  came  about  a  very  different  pair  of 
shoes." 

Mr.  Ram  then  proceeded,  in  the  curious  blend 
of  Johnsonian  English  and  street-boy  slang 
which  constitutes  the  vocabulary  of  that  all- 
too-precocious  linguist,  the  Babu,  with  all  the 
forensic  earnestness  and  technical  verbiage  of 
the  student  who  has  spent  the  past  six  months 
grappling  with  the  intricacies  of  English  Law, 
to  bring  a  weighty  indictment  against  the  gen- 
tleman on  the  second-floor  back. 

"In  brief,"  he  concluded,  "Mr.  Pumpherston 
has  impounded  my  sugar-basin." 

"Broken  it,  you  mean?" 

"No,  Miss  Amelia.  He  has  confiscated  it  — 
pinched  it,  in  fact.  And"  —  Mr.  Ram  swept 
onward  to  his  peroration,  his  brown  face  glisten- 
ing with  mild  indignation  —  "although  I  have 
assured  him  upon  my  word  of  honour  that  there 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         233 

will  be  father  and  mother  of  a  row  if  same  is  not 
returned  forthwith,  he  merely  projects  the  sneer 
of  scorn  upon  my  humble  petition." 

"Oh,  does  he?"  exclaimed  Miss  Amelia,  with 
heat.  "Mr.  Pumpherston  has  been  enquiring  for 
trouble  for  a  long  while  now,  and  this  time  he  is 
going  to  get  it.  Mother"  —  as  Mrs.  Welwyn, 
humming  a  cheerful  air,  entered  the  room  and 
began  to  deposit  parcels  upon  the  table,  much  as 
a  mountain  deposits  an  avalanche  —  "here  is 
Mr.  Ram  says  Mr.  Pumpherston  has  sneaked 
his  sugar-basin  and  won't  give  it  back." 

"What's  that,  Ducky?"  enquired  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn, breaking  off  her  little  tune.  She  was  a 
large,  still  handsome,  and  most  unsuitably  attired 
matron  of  about  forty -five.  Her  task  (and  be  it 
added,  her  joy)  in  life  was  the  support  of  a  rather 
useless  husband,  of  whom  she  was  inordinately 
proud  because  he  happened  to  have  been  born  a 
gentleman;  and  all  the  energy  and  resource  of 
her  honest  simple  nature  had  been  devoted  to  the 
single  aim  of  raising  her  children  to  what  she  con- 
sidered his  level  rather  than  permit  them  to  re- 
main upon  her  own.  In  the  case  of  the  girls  she 
had  been  singularly  successful.  Percy  was  her 
failure,  but  fortunately  she  regarded  him  as  her 
greatest  triumph.  (Providence  is  very  merciful 
to  mothers  in  this  respect.)  And  her  love  had 
not  been  utterly  vain,  for  although  her  taste  in 


234  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

dress  was  disastrous  and  her  control  of  the  letter 
"h"  uncertain,  her  family  were  devoted  to  her. 

"You  ask  Mr.  Mehta  Ram  all  about  it!" 
replied  Amelia  darkly. 

"The  aforesaid  Pumpherston,"  resumed  Mr. 
Ram  at  once,  "has  threatened  me  with  personal 
violence  —  to  wit,  a  damn  good  skelp  in  the  eye- 
ball. I  quote  his  ipsissima  verba." 

"Oh,  has  he?"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn,  with 
decision.  "  Well  that  puts  the  lid  on  Pumpher- 
ston, anyway.  He's  behind  with  his  rent  as  it 
is;  so  the  moment  our  Perce  gets  home  to-night, 
up  goes  Perce  to  the  second-floor  back,  and  out 
goes  my  lord  Pumpherston!  I  never  could  abide 
Scotchies,  anyhow." 

"Martha,"  enquired  a  piping  but  painfully 
distinct  voice  from  the  fireside,  "what  does  that 
black  'eathen  want  in  'ere?" 

"All  right,  Mother,"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn. 
She  turned  soothingly  to  the  Babu.  "We'll  put 
things  straight  for  you,  Mr.  Ram,"  she  said  re- 
assuringly. "You'll  get  justice  in  this  country, 
never  fear!  Good-morning!" 

Mr.  Mehta  Ram,  inarticulate  with  gratitude, 
salaamed  himself  out  of  the  room,  to  the  mani- 
fest relief  of  The  Caution  and  The  Cure.  Mrs. 
Welwyn  followed  him  onto  the  landing. 

"You'll  get  your  sugar-basin  back,  double- 
quick  ! "  she  announced  in  a  loud  voice.  "  That  '11 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         235 

frighten  Pumpherston,"  she  observed  grimly,  re- 
entering  the  room  and  shutting  the  double  doors 
behind  her. 

"It's  a  pity  losing  a  lodger,  Mother,"  said 
Amelia. 

"Yes,  dearie,  it  is,"  agreed  Mrs.  Welwyn  with 
a  sigh.  "But  it  can't  be  helped.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  though.  Run  after  that  blackamoor  and 
ask  him  if  he  has  n't  got  a  friend  wants  a  room 
—  a  nice  peaceable  creature  like  himself.  The 
Museum  Reading-Room  is  full  of  them,  Father 
says.  Tell  him  to  pick  us  a  good  one.  Take  the 
children  up  with  you.  Father  will  be  in  here  for 
his  breakfast  in  a  minute." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  Amelia  and  her 
charges,  Mrs.  Welwyn  crossed  the  room  to  her 
surviving  parent's  side. 

"Well,  Mother,"  she  enquired  cheerily,  ar- 
ranging the  old  lady's  shawl,  "how  goes  it  to- 
day? World  a  bit  wrong?  " 

The  genial  Mrs.  Banks  did  not  answer  imme- 
diately. Obviously  she  was  meditating  a  suitable 
repartee.  Presently  it  came. 

"When  is  that  good-for-nothing  'usband  of 
yours  going  to  get  up?"  she  enquired. 

Mrs.  Welwyn  flushed  red,  but  patted  her  can- 
tankerous parent  good-humouredly  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"That's  all  right,  Mother,"  she  said.    "You 


236  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

mind  your  business  and  I'll  mind  mine.  Lucius 
sits  up  very  late  at  night,  working,  —  long  after 
you  and  I  have  gone  to  bed,  —  so  he 's  entitled  to 
a  good  long  lay  in  the  morning." 

"Pack  o'  nonsense!"  observed  Mr.  Welwyn's 
mother-in-law.  "I'd  learn  'im!" 

"Good-morning,  good  people!" 

Lucius  Welwyn  strode  into  the  room  with  all 
the  buoyancy  and  cheerfulness  of  a  successful 
man  of  forty.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  a  failure 
of  fifty-nine,  but  he  still  posed  to  himself  with 
fair  success  as  a  retired  man  of  letters.  His  role 
was  that  of  the  philosophic  onlooker,  who  prefers 
scholarly  ease  and  detachment  to  the  sordid 
strivings  of  a  commercial  age.  In  reality  he  was 
an  idle,  shiftless,  slightly  dissipated,  but  thor- 
oughly charming  humbug.  He  was  genuinely 
attached  to  his  wife,  and  in  his  more  candid 
moments  readily  and  bitterly  acknowledged  the 
magnitude  and  completeness  of  his  debt  to  her. 
He  possessed  a  quick  smile  and  considerable 
charm  of  manner;  and  when  he  was  attired,  not 
as  now  in  a  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  but  in  the 
garments  of  ceremony,  he  still  looked  what  he 
undoubtedly  was  —  a  scholar  and  gentleman. 

"Good-morning,  Father.  Your  breakfast  is 
all  ready.  Sit  down,  do,  and  take  it  while  it's 
hot,"  Mrs.  Welwyn  besought  him. 

"Breakfast?"  exclaimed   Mr.   Welwyn  with 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         237 

infectious  heartiness.  "  Capital ! "  He  seated  him- 
self before  the  tray.  "A  good  wife  and  a  good 
breakfast  —  some  men  are  born  lucky!" 

"Some  men,"  remarked  an  acid  voice,  "are 
born  a  deal  luckier  than  what  they  deserve  to 
be." 

Mr.  Welwyn,  who  was  sitting  with  his  back  to 
the  oracle,  did  not  turn  round. 

"That  you,  Grandma?"  he  said  lightly,  pour- 
ing out  his  tea.  "You  are  in  your  usual  beatific 
frame  of  mind,  I  am  glad  to  note." 

"None  of  your  long  words  with  me,  Lucius 
Welwyn!"  countered  his  aged  relative  with 
spirit.  "I  never  'ad  no  schooling,  but  I  knows  a 
waster  when  I  sees  'un." 

"Kidneys?  Delicious!"  remarked  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn, lifting  the  dish-cover.  "Martha,  you  spoil 
me." 

This  pronouncement  received  such  hearty 
endorsement  from  the  fireside  that  Mrs.  Welwyn 
crossed  the  room  and  laid  a  firm  hand  upon  her 
sprightly  parent's  palsied  shoulder. 

"Now  then,  Mother,"  she  said  briskly,  "you 
trot  across  the  landing  to  your  own  room.  I'm 
going  to  turn  this  one  out  presently.  I've  lit  a 
fire  for  you." 

Mrs.  Banks,  who  knew  full  well  that  behind 
a  smiling  face  her  daughter  masked  a  hopelessly 
partisan  spirit,  rose  to  her  infirm  feet  and  de- 


238  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

parted,  grumbling.  At  the  door  she  paused  to 
glare  malignantly  upon  the  back  of  her  well- 
connected  son-in-law.  But  that  unworthy  fav- 
ourite of  fortune  was  helping  himself  to  kid- 
neys. 

"Seems  to  me,"  remarked  Mrs.  Welwyn 
apologetically,  as  the  door  closed  with  a  vicious 
snap,  "that  Mother  got  up  on  the  wrong  side  of 
her  bed  this  morning.  You  don't  mind,  do  you, 
Father  dear?" 

"I?  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn 
with  much  cheerfulness.  "I  find  your  worthy 
mother,  if  anything,  a  tonic.  You  are  a  good 
soul,  Martha.  Sit  down  and  have  a  cup  of  tea 
with  me:  it  must  be  some  time  since  you  break- 
fasted. Take  mine. " 

He  pushed  his  brimming  cup  towards  his  wife. 

"Oh,  no,  Father!"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn,  quite 
distressed.  "I'll  get  one  for  myself." 

She  rose,  and  went  to  the  sideboard. 

"-On  consideration,"  interposed  her  husband, 
as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  "I  think  —  yes, 
I  think  —  I  should  prefer  a  tumbler.  I  was  work- 
ing late  last  night;  and  possibly  —  I  rather  feel  — 
You  know  what  the  doctor  said.  A  man  of  letters 
—  thank  you,  dearest.  You  anticipate  every 
wish!" 

The  man  of  letters  helped  himself  from  the 
decanter  and  siphon  which  his  prescient  spouse 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         239 

had  already  laid  beside  the  tray,  and  attacked 
the  kidneys  with  renewed  confidence. 

"Father,"  observed  Mrs.  Welwyn  presently, 
nervously  sipping  her  second-hand  cup  of  tea, 
"there's  trouble  among  the  lodgers  again." 

Mr.  Welwyn  gave  her  a  reproving  little  glance. 

"I  think,  dearest,"  he  said  gently,  "that  we 
agreed  to  call  them  paying  guests." 

"That,"  retorted  Mrs.  Welwyn  with  sudden 
indignation,  "is  just  what  they're  not.  Pum- 
pherston  has  paid  nothing  for  three  weeks,  and 
now  he  is  threatening  to  murder  poor  old  Mehta 
Ram." 

"In  my  house?  "  exclamed  Mr.  Welwyn  grandly. 
"Impossible!  This  must  stop.  Where  is  Percy?" 

"Percy,"  replied  matter-of-fact  Mrs.  Welwyn, 
"is  where  you  would  expect  him  to  be  at  this 
hour,  you  dear  old  silly  —  earning  his  living 
at  Cratchett  and  Raikes's!" 

"Talking  of  Cratchett  and  Raikes,"  said  Mr. 
Welwyn,  characteristically  forgetting  all  about 
Mr.  Pumpherston,  "is  there  a  letter  this  morning 
from  Gandy  and  Cox?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  quickly.    "Why?" 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn,  rising 
to  look  for  his  cigarette-case.  "They  have  been 
rather  pressing  over  their  little  account  lately. 
In  fact,  they  have  had  the  presumption  to 
threaten  me  with  distraint." 


240  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"How  much  was  the  bill,  dear?  "  enquired  Mrs. 
Welwyn,  removing  the  breakfast-tray  to  the 
sideboard. 

"A  mere  trifle,"  was  the  airy  reply.  "Seven 
pounds  odd,  I  fancy,  for  a  case  of  champagne 
which  I  had  a  year  or  two  ago,  when  my 
heart  was  a  little  —  you  recollect?  The  doc- 
tor—" 

"Yes,  lovey,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn.  "It  was  an 
anxious  time  for  all  of  us.  But "  —  her  brow 
puckered  —  "did  n't  you  pay  cash  for  it?  I  seem 
to  remember  giving  you  the  money." 

"Now  you  mention  it,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  "I  believe  you  did  —  ah  — 
hand  me  the  money.  But  I  fear  I  was  weak  — 
quixotic,  if  you  will.  I  gave  it  away."  He  raised 
a  deprecating  hand.  "No!  Please!  I  beg!  Do 
not  ask  me  more,  dearest.  It  was  one  of  those 
private  disbursements  for  which  a  man  with  a 
weakness  for  his  fellow-creatures  often  finds 
himself  made  liable.  A  little  nameless  charity. 
It  will  appear  upon  no  subscription-list;  no 
public  acknowledgment  will  be  made.  But  — 
I  have  my  reward.  Do  not  embarrass  me, 
Martha,  by  alluding  to  the  matter  again." 

Mr.  Welwyn,  quite  affected  by  the  memory  of 
his  own  generosity,  took  his  wife  tenderly  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  upon  the  forehead.  He  then 
blew  his  nose  violently,  evidently  ashamed  of  his 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         241 

own  weakness,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire  with  the 
newspaper. 

Mrs.  Welwyn  knew  only  too  well  what  the 
little  nameless  charity  had  been;  but,  after  all, 
seven  pounds  odd  was  a  small  price  to  pay  for  the 
affection  of  such  a  husband  as  hers.  She  accepted 
the  embrace  gratefully,  sighed,  and  said :  — 

"Very  well,  dearie.  It's  a  good  thing,"  she 
added  inconsequently,  "that  the  house  is  our 
own  and  we  don't  have  to  bother  about  rent. 
Rates  are  bad  enough.  The  butcher  has  been  a 
bit  crusty  of  late;  and  what  with  Pumpherston 
not  paying  for  his  room  and  Tilly  giving  up  her 
blouse-designing,  I  don't  believe  there's  change 
for  a  sovereign  in  the  house." 

Mr.  Welwyn  arose  from  his  armchair,  finished 
the  refreshment  contained  in  the  tumbler  (which 
he  had  placed  conveniently  upon  the  mantel- 
piece), and  smiled  indulgently  upon  his  care- 
worn helpmeet. 

"You  women,  you  women!"  he  said,  shaking 
his  handsome  head  in  playful  reproach.  "No 
breadth  of  view!  No  sense  of  proportion! 
Martha,  dearest,  how  often  have  I  begged  you 
never  to  judge  a  situation  by  its  momentary 
aspect?  Cultivate  a  sense  of  perspective.  Step 
back—" 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Mr.  Welwyn 
trod  heavily  upon  the  fire-irons  in  the  fender. 


242  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

These  resentfully  retaliated,  the  knob  of  the 
shovel  springing  up  and  striking  him  a  sharp  rap 
upon  the  knuckles,  while  the  tongs  nipped  him 
viciously  in  the  ankle. 

After  the  clatter  had  subsided  and  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn  had  said  what  many  a  less  distinguished  man 
would  have  said  under  similar  circumstances,  his 
habitual  placidity  of  temper  returned,  and  he 
resumed  his  lecture  where  it  had  been  interrupted. 

"I  was  about  to  urge  you,  Martha,"  he  con- 
tinued, "to  cast  your  mind  forward  —  forward 
to  the  time  when  you  will  possess  a  wealthy  son- 
in-law." 

Mrs.  Welwyn,  who  was  endeavouring  to  remove 
from  the  sofa  certain  traces  of  its  recent  occu- 
pancy by  the  glutinous  Caution  and  the  adhesive 
Cure,  turned  suddenly  and  faced  her  husband. 

"Lucius,"  she  said  gravely,  "I  have  a  feeling 
that  there  is  going  to  be  trouble  over  this  busi- 
ness." 

"Over  what  business?"  enquired  Mr.  Welwyn. 

"Over  this  son-in-law  business,"  said  Mrs. 
Welwyn  doggedly.     "Mr.  Main  waring — " 
*    "  Richard,  dear  —  Richard ! " 

"All  right  —  Richard!  I  don't  think  Richard 
will  take  very  kindly  to  us  when  he  sees  us  at 
home,  and  he'll  have  to  see  us  here  sometime, 
you  know.  Things  look  different  in  Russell 
Square  from  what  they  do  at  the  Trocadero. 


AN  IMPOSSIBLE  FAMILY         243 

And  if  he  sheers  off  after  all  —  well,  it  '11  break 
our  Tilly's  heart." 

At  this  moment  the  door  burst  open,  to  admit 
the  sisters  Welwyn,  locked  in  an  affectionate 
embrace  and  dancing  a  two-step  to  a  whistled 
accompaniment.  Tilly  had  returned. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  WORD  "SWANK" 

"THAT'S  how  it  goes,  'Melia,"  panted  Tilly, 
whirling  her  partner  into  an  armchair.  "It's 
quite  easy,  really;  Dicky  taught  me  in  the  billiard- 
room  on  Saturday  night  in  ten  minutes.  Hallo, 
hallo,  hallo!  Here  I  am,  everybody!  Hallo, 
Mother  darling! " 

Mrs.  Welwyn  gently  parried  the  approaching 
embrace. 

"Here's  your  father,  dear,"  she  remarked, 
with  the  least  tinge  of  reproof  in  her  voice. 

"Hallo,  Dad!  I  did  n't  see  you,"  exclaimed 
Tilly,  kissing  her  male  parent  excitedly. 

"Welcome  home,  my  daughter!"  said  Mr. 
Welwyn.  "Now  kiss  your  mother." 

Tilly  had  already  begun  to  do  so,  and  an  eager 
conversation  followed. 

"Of  course,  we've  heard  a  bit  from  Perce," 
began  Mrs.  Welwyn  at  once,  drawing  the  pins 
out  of  her  daughter's  hat,  "and  my  word!  you 
seem  to  have  got  into  the  very  thick  of  it  this 
time,  and  no  mistake!" 

"I  should  just  think  so,"  gabbled  Tilly.  "Such 
a  place,  Mother!  Billiard-rooms,  and  garages, 


THE  WORD   "SWANK"  245 

and  butlers,  and  a  fire  in  your  bedroom  and  a 
hot  bottle  in  your  bed,  and  a  maid  to  put  you  into 
your  clothes,  and  I  don't  know  what  all!  And 
I  was  introduced  to  a  lot  of  future  relations. 
There  was  Lady  Adela.  She  tried  to  patronise 
me,  but  was  n't  much  good.  Then  Sylvia,  the 
daughter.  I  hate  her  —  she  is  a  cat.  And  Con- 
nie Carmyle.  She  is  no  relation,  but  I  love  her. 
And  Father  Mainwaring,  he  is  a  dear.  He  says 
he  was  at  Cambridge  with  you,  Dad." 

Mr.  Welwyn  put  down  the  newspaper. 

"What  is  that?"  he  enquired  in  a  sharp  voice. 
"Cambridge?" 

"Yes.  He  does  n't  remember  you  at  all  dis- 
tinctly," said  Tilly,  "but  says  he  has  an  impres- 
sion that  you  were  the  most  brilliant  man  of 
your  year." 

"If  that,"  remarked  Mr.  Welwyn,  in  a  dis- 
tinctly relieved  tone,  "is  all  that  he  recollects 
about  me,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  meet  him  again." 

"How  is  Dicky,  Tilly?"  enquired  Amelia. 

Tilly's  merry  face  softened. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  half  to  herself,  "is  just 
Dicky.  He  brought  me  as  far  as  the  door,  but 
I  would  n't  let  him  come  in." 

"And  are  they  all  coming  to  tea?"  enquired 
Mrs.  Welwyn  anxiously. 

"  Yes  —  the  whole  boiling  of  them,  at  five  this 
afternoon  —  a  state  call!"  replied  Tilly.  "By 


246  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

the  way,  Mother,  that  was  a  bloomer  we  made 
about  the  invitation.  I  knew  at  the  time  we 
talked  about  it  that  you  ought  to  have  written 
a  note  and  chanced  the  spelling.  Her  ladyship 
made  that  quite  plain  to  me.'* 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  in  distress. 
"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  did  n't  say  anything  in  particular," 
admitted  Tilly,  crinkling  her  brow.  "Nothing 
one  could  take  hold  of,  you  know.  Just — just — " 

"Sort  of  snacks,"  suggested  her  mother  sym- 
pathetically. 

Tilly  nodded  her  head. 

"That's  it,"  she  said.  "Anyhow,  she  has  sent 
you  a  written  reply.  Here  it  is." 

Mrs.  Welwyn  and  Amelia  breathed  hard  and 
respectfully  at  the  sight  of  the  large  thin  grey 
envelope,  addressed  by  Lady  Adela's  own  com- 
pelling hand. 

"You  read  it,  dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn. 

"No;  I'll  tell  you  what,"  exclaimed  Tilly. 
"We'll  let  little  'Melia  read  it.  She  does  n't  get 
much  fun." 

"Oh,  Tilly!"  cried  Amelia  gratefully. 

She  took  the  letter,  opened  it  with  an  air,  and 
began : — 

"  My  deah  Mrs.  Welwyn  —  haw  I " 

There  was  great  merriment  at  this,  for  in  her 
own  family  circle  Miss  Amelia  enjoyed  a  great 


THE  WORD  "SWANK"  247 

reputation  as  a  wit  and  mimic.  The  fact  that 
neither  she  nor  any  of  her  audience,  save  Tilly, 
had  ever  beheld  Lady  Adela  in  the  flesh  detracted 
not  a  whit  from  their  enjoyment  of  her  perform- 
ance. 

"  //  is  really  too  good  of  you,9*  continued  Amelia, 
in  the  high-pitched  and  even  tones  of  a  lady  of 
exceptional  breeding,  "to  invite  us  all  —  such  a 
crowd  of  us  —  to  come  to  tea  on  Monday.  As  it 
happens,  we  shall  be  in  town  that  day,  so  Mr.  Main- 
waring  and  I  propose  to  take  you  at  your  word,  and 
shall  be  charmed  to  come  with  our  son  and  daughter 
at  five  o'clock." 

"That'll  be  four  cups,"  murmured  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn  abstractedly.  "We  can  get  Mehta  Ram's. 
Go  on,  Ducky." 

"After  our  recent  experience  of  your  daughter's 
society  — " 

Here  Amelia  broke  off,  to  observe  that  in  her 
opinion  the  last  phrase  sounded  tabbyish. 

"Never  mind!  Go  on!"  urged  Mrs.  Welwyn. 
—  Daughter's  society,  we  are  naturally  anxious 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  her  forbears." 

"Her  four  what?"  asked  Mrs.  Welwyn  in  a 
dazed  voice. 

Amelia  carefully  examined  the  passage,  and 
repeated :  — 

"  It  says  '  four  bears '  —  written  as  one  word. 
Does  that  mean  you  and  Dad  and  me  and  Perce?  " 


248  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"If  her  ladyship,"  began  Mrs.  Welwyn  warmly, 
"is  going  to  start  naming  names  from  the  Zoo  - 

Tilly  laid  a  quick  hand  upon  her  mother's  arm 
and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  fireplace. 

"Dad,"  she  enquired,  "what  does  'forbears' 
mean?" 

A  chuckling  voice  from  behind  "The  Daily 
Mail"  enlightened  her. 

"The  laugh  is  on  your  mother,  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Welwyn  good-temperedly.  "Finish  it, 
'Melia." 

Amelia  did  so.  "  What  weather  !  Sincerely  yours, 
Adela  Mainwaring.  That's  all." 

"Quite  enough,  too!"  commented  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn, who  still  had  her  doubts  about  the  four  bears. 

"  Any  way ,"  remarked  Tilly  energetically, "  they 
are  coming;  and  we  have  till  five  o'clock  to  get 
ready  for  them.  Hallo,  Perce!" 

To  the  company  assembled  entered  Mr.  Percy 
Welwyn,  immaculate  in  frock  coat,  brown  boots, 
and  a  rakish  bowler  hat. 

"What  oh,  Sis!"  he  exclaimed,  kissing  Tilly 
affectionately.  "Back  again  from  the  Moated 
Grange  —  eh?  My  dinner  ready,  Mother?  " 

"Wait  a  minute,  Percy  dear,"  said  Tilly 
quickly.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  —  all  of  you. 
Sit  down,  everybody.  Father!" 

"My  daughter?" 

"  Come  and  sit  here,  please ! " 


THE  WORD   "SWANK"  249 

"A  round-table  conference?"  enquired  Mr. 
Welwyn  amiably.  "Capital!" 

Tilly  upon  her  own  quarter-deck  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent being  from  the  frightened  little  alien  whom 
we  saw  at  Shotley  Beauchamp.  In  two  minutes 
the  Welwyn  family  had  meekly  packed  themselves 
round  the  octagonal  table.  Tilly  took  the  chair. 

"Now,  then,  all  of  you,"  she  began,  with  a 
suspicion  of  a  high-strung  quaver  in  her  voice 

—  "Father,  Mother,  Percy,  and  little  'Melia  — 
listen  to  me !  You  know,  no  one  better,  that  when 
I  went  down  to  Shotley  Beauchamp  on  Saturday 
I  meant  to  act  perfectly  square  to  Dicky's  people 

—  tell  them  who  I  was  and  what  I  was,  and  that 
I  worked  for  my  living  and  so  on;  and  generally 
make  sure  that  they  did  n't  take  me  in  on  false 
pretences.  Is  that  correct?" 

"Yes  —  quite  correct,"  chorused  the  family. 

"  Well,"  continued  Tilly  defiantly — "  I  have  n't 
done  it!  I  have  n't  said  a  word!  There!  I  could  n't! 
I  have  seen  Dicky's  people,  and  their  house,  and 
their  prosperity,  and  the  way  they  look  at  things. 
They're  a  pretty  tough  proposition,  the  Main- 
warings.  They  are  no  better  born  than  we  are; 
but  they  are  rich,  and  stupid,  and  conceited,  and 
purse-proud  — " 

"Tilly!  Tilly!"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn,  scandalised 
to  hear  the  gentry  so  miscalled. 

"Yes,  they  are,  Mother!"  cried  the  girl  pas- 


250  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

sionately.  "You  don't  know  what  I  have  had  to 
put  up  with  this  week-end,  when  Dicky  was  n't 
by.  Why-" 

"Dicky,"  observed  Mr.  Welwyn  dryly,  "is 
also  a  Main  waring,  Tilly." 
.  "  Dicky,"  replied  Tilly,  with  feminine  contempt 
for  the  laws  of  heredity  and  environment,  "may 
be  a  Mainwaring,  but  he  does  n't  take  after  the 
rest  of  the  family.  But  never  mind  Dicky  for  a 
moment.  What  I  want  to  say  is  this.  In  dealing 
with  people  of  this  kind — people  who  regard  those 
who  have  no  money  as  so  much  dirt  beneath  their 
feet  —  there  is  only  one  thing  that  pays ;  and 
that  thing,"  she  concluded  with  intense  convic- 
tion, "is  —  swank,  swank,  swank!" 

"  Good  old  Tilly !"  shouted  Percy  enthusiasti- 
cally; and  the  rest  of  the  Welwyns,  quite  carried 
away  by  their  small  despot's  earnestness,  beat 
upon  the  table  with  their  fists. 

"The  Mainwarings  swanked  for  my  benefit,  I 
can  tell  you,"  continued  Tilly,  with  cheeks  glow- 
ing hotly.  "  They  laid  off  to  me  about  their  town 
house  and  their  country  house  and  their  shooting 
and  their  hunting  and  their  grand  relations ;  and 
they  did  their  best  —  especially  the  daughter  — 
to  make  me  feel  like  a  little  dressmaker  who  has 
come  in  for  the  day." 

"I  bet  you  stood  up  to  them,  Sis,"  said  the 
admiring  Percy. 


THE  WORD  "SWANK"  251 

Tilly  smiled  in  a  dreamy,  reminiscent  fashion. 

"I  did,'*  she  said.  "I  matched  them,  brag  for 
brag.  They  asked  who  you  were,  Mother.  I  said 
you  were  a  Banks  —  one  of  the  Bankses  —  of  Bed- 
fordshire!" 

Unseemly  but  sympathetic  laughter  greeted 
this  announcement,  and  Mrs.  Welwyn  was  made 
the  recipient  of  several  congratulatory  thumps 
from  her  son  and  younger  daughter. 

"I  wasn't  quite  sure  whether  it  was  Bed- 
fordshire or  Cambridgeshire,"  continued  Tilly. 
"  Where  is  Hitchin,  anyway?" 

"Hertfordshire,"  replied  Amelia,  and  every 
one  laughed  again.  They  had  all  things  in  com- 
mon, the  Welwyns,  especially  their  jokes. 

"Then,"  Tilly  proceeded,  "I  told  them  a 
lovely  fairy-tale  about  our  old  town  house.  Been 
in  the  family  for  generations,  and  so  on." 

"So  it  has,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn. 

"And  I  also  told  them,"  continued  the  unfilial 
Tilly,  "that  Dad  was  a  bit  of  an  antique  him- 
self, and  could  n't  bear  to  move.  Has  his  roots 
in  the  cellar,  so  to  speak.  You  don't  mind,  do  you, 
dear?"  she  enquired  eagerly. 

"My  child,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn,  "I  feel 
proud  to  have  figured  as  one  of  your  assets." 

"And  finally,"  concluded  Tilly,  "as  I  began  to 
warm  up  to  my  work  a  bit,  I  added  a  few  things, 
looking  as  sweet  as  anything  all  the  time  —  like 


252  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

this ! "  (Here  she  treated  her  enraptured  audience 
to  a  very  creditable  reproduction  of  Sylvia  Main- 
waring's  languid  and  superior  smile.)  "I  chatted 
about  our  billiard-room,  and  our  old  family  but- 
ler, and  our  motor,  and  so  on.  I  am  afraid  I  lost 
my  head  a  bit.  I  have  a  notion  that  I  gave  them 
to  understand  that  we  went  yachting  in  the 
summer!" 

There  was  more  laughter,  but  Mrs.  Welwyn 
added  anxiously :  — 

"You  did  n't  mention  anything  about  South- 
end,  did  you,  dearie?" 

"Not  me!"  said  Tilly;  "though  I  was  feeling 
utterly  reckless  by  that  time.  For  two  pins  I 
would  have  told  them  that  I  had  been  presented 
at  Court!" 

She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"That  is  all  I  have  to  say,"  she  announced. 
"I  just  mention  these  little  facts  to  you  so  that 
when  the  Mainwarings  come  to  tea  this  afternoon 
you  may  know  what  to  talk  about.  See?" 

The  other  members  of  the  conference,  avoid- 
ing the  eager  eye  of  the  chairwoman,  began  to 
regard  one  another  uneasily.  Then  Percy  said :  — 

"Tilly,  old  girl,  you've  landed  us  with  a  bit  of 
a  shipping  order,  ain't  you?" 

Tilly  nodded.  "You  are  right,"  she  said.  "But 
it  will  only  be  for  an  afternoon.  We  need  not 
invite  them  again." 


THE  WORD  "SWANK"  253 

But  Percy,  who  was  an  honest  youth,  although 
he  wore  a  dickey,  hesitated. 

"How  about  the  gallant  Ricardo?"  he  en- 
quired. "What's  his  position  in  this  glee-party? 
Is  he  with  us  or  them?" 

"Oh  — Dicky?"  said  Tilly,  with  less  confi- 
dence. "I  have  been  quite  square  with  him.  I 
have  told  him  everything." 

"Everything?"  enquired  several  people  at 
once. 

"A  good  deal,  anyhow,"  maintained  Tilly.  "I 
have  warned  him  that  I  shan't  have  a  penny  to 
my  name;  and  that  I  have  had  very  few  of  the 
advantages  that  the  ordinary  girl  gets;  and  that 
he  must  take  me  and  my  people  as  he  finds  us. 
And  he  says  he  prefers  me  that  way.  In  fact"  — 
Tilly's  thoughts  flew  back  to  Sunday's  idyll  in  the 
pine  wood  —  "he  has  said  a  good  deal  more  than 
that.  And  if  I  want  him  and  he  wants  me,"  she 
added  eagerly,  like  one  anxious  to  struggle  on  to 
less  debatable  ground,  "what  does  it  matter  what 
we  say  or  do  to  his  silly  old  mother  and  sister? 
I  want  my  Dicky ! "  Her  eyes  shone.  "He  loves 
me  and  I  love  him,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  be 
said  about  it.  Father,  Mother,  Percy,  'Melia"  — 
Tilly's  hands  went  forth  appealingly  —  "promise 
that  you  will  stand  by  me  and  see  me  through!" 

Eight  impulsive  Welwyn  hands  closed  upon 
Tilly's  two. 


254  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"We'll  see  you  through,  Sis,"  said  Percy  reas- 
suringly. His  eye  swept  round  the  board  in 
presidential  fashion.  "Those  in  favour?" 

Four  hands  flew  up. 

"Carried  unanimously!"  announced  Percy; 
while  Tilly,  reassured,  ran  round  the  table 
showering  promiscuous  embraces  upon  her  rela- 
tives. 

"There's  the  front-door  bell,  'Melia,"  said 
Mrs.  Welwyn,  whose  provident  instinct  never 
deserted  her  in  her  most  exalted  moments.  "It 
may  be  a  new  lodger.  Run  down  and  see." 

Amelia  obeyed,  and  the  rest  of  the  House  of 
Welwyn  went  into  Committee. 

"I  say,"  remarked  the  far-seeing  Percy;  "may 
I  enquire  who  is  going  to  open  the  front  door  to 
our  guests  this  afternoon?" 

The  Committee  surveyed  one  another  in 
consternation. 

"None  of  us  can't  do  it,  that's  quite  plain," 
said  Mrs.  Welwyn.  "they  would  think  we 
had  n't  got  a  servant." 

"They  would  be  right,  first  time,"  confirmed 
Percy. 

"The  old  family  butler  must  do  it,"  said  Mr. 
Welwyn  with  a  dry  chuckle. 

"You  certainly  overreached  yourself  in  the 
matter  of  the  butler,  Sis,"  observed  Percy. 

"We  could  get  the  charwoman,  or  borrow  the 


THE  WORD   "SWANK"  255 

girl  from  the  Rosenbaums,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Welwyn. 

"But  I  said  a  butler,  Mumsie,"  objected  Tilly 
dismally. 

"Oh,  dear,  so  you  did,"  sighed  Mrs.  Welwyn. 

Tilly  pondered. 

"I  know  what  we  can  do,"  she  said.  "Percy 
must  meet  them,  quite  casually,  outside  in  the 
Square,  on  his  way  home  from  the  City  — " 

"And  let  them  in  with  my  latch-key  —  eh?" 
cried  Percy.  "That's  the  ticket!" 

Mrs.  Welwyn,  greatly  relieved,  smiled  upon 
her  fertile  offspring.  Mr.  Welwyn  coughed 
gently. 

"The  word  'swank,'"  he  observed,  "is  unfa- 
miliar to  me;  but  as  we  have  decided  to  incor- 
porate it  in  our  plan  of  campaign,  may  I  suggest, 
Percy,  that  you  allow  your  guests  to  ring  the 
front-door  bell  before  overtaking  them?" 

"Righto,  Dad,"  said  Percy.   "But  why?" 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Welwyn  diffidently, 
"it  has  occurred  to  me  that  when  you  have 
ushered  the  party  into  the  hall,  you  might  call 
down  the  staircase  into  the  basement,  distinctly 
but  not  ostentatiously,  to  some  one  —  James,  or 
Thomas  —  you  can  address  him  by  any  name 
you  please  —  that  there  is  no  need  to  come  up. 
You  see  the  idea?" 

"Dad,"  declared  Percy,  shaking  his  parent 


256  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

affectionately  by  the  hand,  "you  are  a  marvel! 
Why,  'Melia,  what's  the  trouble?" 

Amelia,  wide-eyed  and  frightened,  was  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DE  I/AUDACE,  ET  ENCORE  DE  I/AUDACE,  ET  TOU- 
JOURS  DE  I/AUDACE! 

"DADDY,"  announced  Amelia  in  a  stage  whis- 
per, "there's  a  man  downstairs." 

"What  sort  of  man?"  enquired  Mr.  Welwyn, 
rising  from  his  seat  and  edging  carelessly  in  the 
direction  of  his  bedroom  door. 

"A  rough-looking  man." 

"Tell  him,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn  with  his  hand  on 
the  door-handle,  "  that  I  am  not  at  home.  Percy ! 
Quick!  Keep  that  fellow  out !" 

But  it  was  too  late.  A  stranger  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  House  of  Welwyn. 

He  was  an  elderly,  undersized,  seedy-looking 
individual,  with  a  blue  chin,  a  red  nose,  and  a 
faded  theatrical  manner.  In  his  hand  he  held  a 
blue-grey  slip  of  paper.  He  smiled  amiably  upon 
the  shrinking  figure  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Don't  trouble  to  exit  on  my  account,  sir,"  he 
remarked  wheezily. 

"Who  are  you?"  stammered  Mr.  Welwyn. 
"WTiat  is  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion?" 

"Name  of  Welwyn?"  enquired  the  stranger 
briskly. 

"Yes." 


258  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Loosius?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,"  announced  the  stranger,  proffering 
the  blue  paper,  "I  must  arsk  you  for  your  hospi- 
tality for  a  short  time  —  a  mere  matter  o'  form, 
of  course  —  until  this  small  account  is  settled. 
It's  Gandy  and  Cox,"  he  continued  chattily: 
"seven  teen-seven  teen-six;  and  I'm  put  in  posses- 
sion until  it's  settled.  In  other  words,  'ere  I  am, 
and  'ere  I  stays  until  I  gets  what  I  came  for." 

Depositing  his  frayed  headgear  upon  the 
piano,  the  emissary  of  Gandy  and  Cox  was  upon 
the  point  of  selecting  a  chair,  when  he  became 
conscious  of  a  sudden  pressure  upon  the  nape  of 
his  neck. 

"Outside!"  intimated  Percy's  voice. 

"Pardon  me,"  replied  the  visitor  without  mov- 
ing, "but  you  touch  me  at  your  own  risk.  I'm 
put  in  by  the  law." 

There  was  a  stifled  cry  from  Mrs.  Welwyn  and 
the  girls. 

"The  warrant  was  signed  and  'anded  to  me 
this  morning,"  continued  the  representative  of 
Justice,  "at  ten-thirty  exact.  It  is  now  in  the 
'ands  of  your  Pa,  young  ladies  — " 

"Law  be  damned!  Out  you  go!"  shouted 
Percy,  whirling  the  speaker  round  towards  the 
door. 

"Reflect!"  urged  the  broker's  man,  gently 


REFLECT!"  URGED  THE  BROKER'S  MAN,  GENTLY 
RESISTING  PERCY'S  EFFORTS  TO  EJECT  HIM 


DE  L'AUDACE  259 

resisting  Percy's  efforts  to  eject  him  by  leaning 
back  and  digging  his  heels  into  the  carpet. 
"What's  the  good?  If  you  dot  me  one  and  fling 
me  out,  it  merely  means  fourteen  days  without 
the  option  for  assaulting  a  sheriff's  officer  in  the 
execution  of  his  duty,  on  top  of  the  distraint.  If 
you  don't  believe  me,"  he  added,  clinging  affec- 
tionately to  the  leg  of  the  piano,  which  he  was 
passing  at  the  moment,  "go  and  read  the  war- 
rant." 

"He  is  right,  Percy,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn. 
"Leave  him  alone.  A  sheriff's  officer!"  he  mut- 
tered brokenly  to  himself,  as  his  son  relinquished 
his  endeavour  to  speed  the  parting  guest.  "And 
I  was  once  Fellow  and  Tutor!" 

"A  broker's  man!"  wailed  Mrs.  Welwyn,  put- 
ting an  arm  round  each  of  her  daughters.  "And 
I  brought  you  up  respectable,  dearies!" 

"A  broker's  man!"  echoed  Tilly,  "and  Lady 
Adela  coming  here  this  afternoon!" 

This  was  too  much  for  that  unpolished  but 
chivalrous  youth  Percy.  Something  must  be 
done,  for  Tilly's  sake. 

"Dad,"  he  said  desperately,  laying  a  hand  on 
his  father's  shoulder,  "ain't  you  got  no  money 
nowhere?" 

Mr.  Welwyn  shook  his  head  helplessly. 

"Mother?"  said  Percy. 

"I've  got  about  fifteen  shillings,"  said  Mrs. 


260  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Welwyn,  brightening  up  at  the  prospect  of  action. 
"How  much  did  that  insect"  —  she  indicated 
the  minion  of  the  law,  now  warming  himself  at 
the  fireplace  —  "say  it  was?" 

"  Seventeen-seven teen-six,"  replied  the  insect, 
with  the  air  of  one  letting  off  a  telling  repartee. 

"  There  is  n't  so  much  money  in  all  the  world ! " 
whispered  Amelia  despairingly. 

"I've  got  six-and-threepence,"  said  Percy, 
diving  into  his  pockets. 

A  thought  occurred  to  Mrs.  Welwyn. 

"Father,"  she  enquired  of  the  motionless  figure 
on  the  sofa,  "did  n't  you  tell  me  that  Gandy  and 
Cox's  bill  was  only  a  matter  of  seven  pounds?" 

"It  was,  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn,  "but  —  I 
ordered  a  little  more,  to  keep  them  quiet." 

Mrs.  Welwyn,  admirable  woman,  wasted  no 
time  in  useless  reproaches.  Instead,  she  turned 
once  more  upon  the  broker's  man. 

"Now,  look  here,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  ask  a 
favour  of  you.  We're  expecting  company  here 
this  afternoon.  Will  you  go  away,  and  come 
back  in  the  evening?" 

"And  find  the  front  door  bolted!"  replied  the 
broker's  man  affably.  "No,  I  don't  think!  I  pre- 
fer to  remain.  I've  been  in  this  profession  for 
some  time  now  —  ever  since  I  abandoned  the 
profession,  in  fact  —  and  I  know  a  thing  or  two. 
I'm  sorry,"  he  added,  "to  disoblige  a  lady,  and 


DE  L'AUDACE  261 

I  hope  you  won't  take  offence  where  none  was 
intended.  Try  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of 
things.  I  might  'ave  been  a  auction." 

Percy  broke  in  upon  these  comfortable  words. 

"Look  here,"  he  said;  "will  you  go  away  for  a 
quid?" 

"There  is  nothing,"  replied  the  visitor,  "that  I 
should  like  at  this  present  moment  better  than 
a  quid;  but  I'm  afraid  it's  my  duty  to  stay. 
I  shan't  do  nobody  any  'arm,  beyond  taking  a 
inventory  of  the  furniture.  You'll  find  me  quite 
a  confidential  family  friend  in  a  day  or  two, 
I  should  n't  wonder.  Oh,  dear,  'ere's  another  of 
'em  coming  to  'ave  a  go ! " 

He  closed  his  eyes  resignedly.  Before  him  stood 
Tilly  —  small,  slim,  white  to  the  lips,  with  all 
her  world  tottering  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss.  In 
her  hands  she  held  a  cigar-box. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked. 

"Surname,"  replied  the  broker's  man  pedan- 
tically,"  Stillbottle.  Christian  ditto,  Samuel.  Net 
result,  Samuel  Stillbottle." 

"Have  a  cigar,  Mr.  Stillbottle,"  said  Tilly, 
with  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 

Mr.  Stillbottle  helped  himself  without  com- 
ment. He  was  a  man  for  whom  life  held  few  sur- 
prises. "Thank  you.  But  I  won't  go,  mind  you," 
was  all  he  said. 

Next  moment  Tilly  motioned  him  to  a  chair 


262  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

beside  the  table,  and  set  the  decanter  and  a  glass 
beside  him.  "Have  something  to  drink,  Mr. 
Stillbottle,"  she  said. 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  do  so,"  replied  Mr.  Still- 
bottle  graciously.  "  Without  prejudice,  of  course," 
he  added,  filling  his  glass. 

By  this  time  the  others,  astonished  and  inter- 
rogative, had  gathered  round  Tilly. 

"Tilly,"  burst  out  Percy,  "what's  the  good? 
He  won't  go  —  don't  you  think  it!" 

"Young  man,"  corroborated  Mr.  Stillbottle, 
"you  are  right.  I  won't.  You  've  done  it  in  one." 

Tilly  took  an  arm  of  Percy  and  another  of  her 
mother  and  drew  both  in  the  direction  of  the 
sofa.  Her  breath  came  fast. 

"Listen,"  she  said  rapidly  —  "y°u»  too,  Dad! 
We  will  have  our  tea-party.  We  won't  throw  up 
a  single  item  in  the  programme.  We'll  entertain 
the  Mainwarings,  and  we'll  show  them  that  we 
know  how  to  do  things  in  proper  style,  and  we  '11 
make  them  all  enjoy  themselves  —  even  Sylvia 
—  and  I'll  get  my  Dicky  yet!" 

She  paused,  and  surveyed  her  mystified  audi- 
ence with  shining  eyes. 

"But,  Sis,"  enquired  the  dubious  Percy,  indi- 
cating the  fully  occupied  Mr.  Stillbottle,  "what 
about  Rockefeller  over  there?" 

The  indomitable  Tilly  laughed. 

"He  is  our  old  family  butler! "  she  said  simply. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SIDELIGHTS   ON  A   PUBLIC   CHARACTER 

Mr.  SAMUEL  STILLBOTTLE,  notebook  in  hand, 
with  a  look  of  professional  severity  upon  his 
pinched  features,  slowly  circumnavigated  the 
drawing-room,  making  an  inventory  of  the  furni- 
ture. He  was  followed,  step  for  step,  by  the 
deeply  interested  Caution  and  Cure,  who,  finding 
the  bonds  of  discipline  unusually  relaxed,  owing 
to  the  preoccupation  of  their  elders,  had  seized 
an  early  opportunity  of  escaping  from  the  region 
belowstairs  in  which  they  were  supposed  to  be 
enjoying  their  afternoon  siesta,  in  order  to  pursue 
their  acquaintance  with  the  gentleman  whom  they 
had  christened,  on  sight,  "  the  funny  man."  They 
had  encountered  Mr.  Stillbottle  in  the  kitchen, 
and  had  conceived  a  liking  for  him  at  once.  As  ap- 
praisers of  character  their  point  of  view  was  cir- 
cumscribed and  their  judgment  immature ;  but  Mr. 
Stillbottle's  performance  at  dinner  had  won  their 
unqualified  respect  and  admiration.  They  had 
accordingly  decided  to  spend  the  rest  of  their 
lives  in  his  company,  and  with  that  intent  in  view 
had  laboriously  scaled  the  staircase,  and  were 
now  doing  their  best,  by  a  series  of  ill-timed 


264  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

demonstrations  of  cordiality,  to  obstruct  their 
new  friend  in  the  execution  of  his  duty. 

"  Chesterfield  sofa  —  two  castors  loose  —  one- 
fifteen,"  murmured  Mr.  Stillbottle,  plying  his 
pencil.  ("Run  away,  that's  good  children.)  Me- 
'ogany  whatnot" —  he  slipped  his  hand  round 
behind  the  piece  of  furniture  in  question  —  "  with 
deal  back,  two-ten.  Armchair,  with  off  'ind  leg 
cracked,  twelve-and-six.  (Run  away,  that 's  little 
dears.  Run  away  and  drown  the  kitten,  or  give  the 
canary  a  shampoo ;  but  don't  stand  there  starin* 
at  me  like  a  pair  of  images.  I  don't  like  it,  so 
don't  do  it.)  Now  for  the  'arpsichord ! " 

The  harassed  Mr.  Stillbottle  began  to  examine 
the  Welwyns'  piano.  The  Cure  turned  to  The 
Caution. 

"Funny  man!"  she  reiterated  ecstatically. 

"Yesh,"  assented  The  Caution,  who  suffered 
from  a  slight  palatal  affection.  "Funny  man! 
Lesh  fight  him  a  little  bit!" 

„  As  an  intimation  that  the  approaching  combat 
was  to  be  of  the  friendliest  description,  he  first 
smiled  seraphically  upon  Mr.  Stillbottle  (who 
was  looking  the  other  way  at  the  moment) ,  and 
then  dealt  that  gentleman  a  well-directed  blow 
in  the  back  of  each  knee  simultaneously  with  his 
pudgy  fists.  Mr.  Stillbottle,  who,  owing  to  his 
ignorance  of  infantile  patois,  was  entirely  unpre- 
pared for  this  onslaught,  promptly  fell  head-first 


SIDELIGHTS  265 

into  the  arm-chair  with  the  damaged  hind  leg, 
reducing  its  value  by  a  further  one-and-ninepence. 
Before  he  could  extricate  himself  his  enraptured 
admirers  had  conceived  and  partially  put  into 
execution  the  happy  design  of  tickling  him  to 
death. 

"Now,  look  'ere,"  he  exclaimed  indignantly, 
when  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  sud- 
denness of  this  outrage  to  resume  an  upright  posi- 
tion, "you  must  drop  it!  Pop  off!  I  won't  'ave 
it !  If  I  ketch  'old  of  either  of  you  —  if  I  ketch  — 
all  right,  say  no  more  about  it!  I  believe  that 
little  girl  'as  got  the  evil  eye,"  he  muttered  weakly 
to  himself.  Mr.  Stillbottle's  nerves  were  not  in 
good  order,  and  The  Cure  had  regarded  him  with 
unwinking  steadfastness  for  something  like  five 
minutes.  "Go  and  play  over  there,"  he  urged, 
almost  piteously,  "and  let  me  do  my  job.  Now, 
where  was  I?  Ho,  yes  —  the  pianner." 

He  submitted  that  venerable  instrument  to  a 
further  scrutiny. 

"Collardand  Collar A^  he  observed.  ("A  very- 
appropriate  title,  too,  for  this  'ouse!)  Date, 
about  seventy-four  or  five,  I  should  say."  He 
lifted  the  lid  and  struck  a  few  inharmonious 
chords.  "Not  been  tooned  since  bought.  Loud 
pedal  broke,  and  ivories  off  three  keys.  Mouse- 
'ole  in  the  back.  Say  thirty -five  bob,  or  two  p — 
Will  you  drop  it?" 


266  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Mr.  Stillbottle  made  this  request  from  the 
floor,  upon  which  he  had  suddenly  adopted  a  re- 
cumbent attitude.  The  Caution  and  the  Cure, 
having  decided  to  initiate  their  idol  into  what 
they  had  always  considered  the  most  consummate 
jest  in  existence,  had  placed  a  heavy  footstool 
close  behind  his  heels;  and  Mr.  Stillbottle,  step- 
ping back  a  pace  in  order  to  view  the  tout  ensemble 
of  the  piano,  had  carried  the  joke  to  a  successful 
and  rapturous  conclusion. 

Amid  appreciative  shrieks  of  merriment  from 
the  twins,  their  fermenting  playfellow  rose  sol- 
emnly to  his  feet,  and  was  pausing  dramatically 
for  the  double  purpose  of  recovering  his  breath 
and  deciding  upon  an  effective  scheme  of  reprisal, 
when  he  became  aware  that  the  door  was  open 
and  that  the  master  of  the  house  was  smilingly 
contemplating  the  entertainment. 

"You  three  appear  to  be  having  a  romp,"  said 
Mr.  Welwyn  genially.  "You  are  evidently  a  lover 
of  children,  Mr.  Stillbottle! " 

Fortunately  for  the  delicate  ears  of  The  Cau- 
tion and  The  Cure,  Mr.  Stillbottle  was  still  in- 
capable of  utterance.  By  the  time  that  his  two 
admirers  had  been  escorted  to  the  door  by  their 
progenitor  and  bidden  to  return  to  their  own  place, 
his  power  of  speech  had  returned;  but  per- 
ceiving that  the  time  for  explanation  was  now 
past,  the  misjudged  romper  decided  to  postpone 


SIDELIGHTS  267 

the  refutation  of    the  libel   until   some   other 
occasion. 

"Be  seated,  Mr.  Stillbottle,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn 
politely. 

Mr.  Stillbottle  selected  the  sofa,  which  it  will 
be  remembered  had  been  marked  as  high  as  one 
pound  fifteen. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  comfortable  dinner,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Welwyn. 

"Thank  you,'*  replied  Mr.  Stillbottle  briefly  — 
"I  'ad/' 

Mr.  Welwyn  produced  half-a-sovereign. 

"I  make  a  point  of  being  punctilious  over 
money  matters,"  he  said,  handing  the  coin  to  the 
broker's  man.  "When  our  little  — er  —  contract 
has  been  carried  to  a  successful  conclusion  I  shall 
be  happy  to  hand  you  another." 

Mr.  Stillbottle  pocketed  the  money. 

"When  may  I  expect  the  other?"  he  en- 
quired. 

"If  all  goes  well,  about  six  o'clock  this  even- 
ing." 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Stillbottle  comprehendingly. 
"Carriages  at  five-forty-five  —  eh?" 

"Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn.  "You  have 
hit  off  the  situation  to  a'  nicety."  He  laughed,  in 
high  spirits.  His  resilient  nature  had  entirely 
recovered  from  the  humiliation  of  the  morning. 
"Meanwhile" — he  produced  a  sheet  of  note- 


268  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

paper  —  "I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  kindly 
commit  these  notes  to  memory." 

Mr.  Stillbottle  laboriously  perused  the  docu- 
ment. 

"Lord  love  a  duck!"  he  observed  in  a  dazed 
voice  — "What's  this?" 

"A  list  of  —  let  us  say,  your  entrances  and 
exits  this  afternoon,"  explained  Mr.  Welwyn 
smoothly.  "You  understand  theatrical  terms,  I 
believe." 

He  had  struck  the  right  chord.  Mr.  Stillbottle's 
rheumy  eye  lit  up. 

"Entrances  and  ex —  oho!  Now  I  begin  to 
take  you,"  he  said.  "  We  're  agoin'  to  do  drawing- 
room  theatricals,  are  we?  Kind  o'  benefit  mati- 
nee—eh?" 

"In  a  sense,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn.  "Are 
you  endowed  with  the  dramatic  instinct?" 

"Come  again!"  said  Mr.  Stillbottle  politely. 

"Could  you  play  a  part,  do  you  think?" 

"Could  I  play  a  part?"  repeated  Mr.  Still- 
bottle  witheringly.  "Could  a  duck  swim?  Why, 
I  was  in  the  profession,  off  and  on,  for  a  matter 
of  fourteen  years." 

"In  what  capacity?"  asked  Mr.  Welwyn, 
much  interested. 

"Well,  I've  bin  a  good  many  things,"  said  the 
versatile  Stillbottle,  putting  his  feet  up  on  the 
sofa.  "I've  bin  a  guest  in  the  palace  of  the  Dook 


SIDELIGHTS  269    , 

of  Alsatia ;  I  've  bin  the  middle  bit  of  the  sea-ser- 
pent —  what  you  might  call  the  prime  cut  —  in 
a  ballet  of  fish ;  and  I  was  once  the  second  wave  on 
the  O.P.  side  of  the  storm  what  wrecked  Sinbad 
the  Sailor." 

Mr.  Welwyn  smiled  sympathetically.  Here  was 
another  rolling  stone. 

"What  made  you  abandon  such  a  promising 
career,  Mr.  Stillbottle?"  he  asked. 

The  late  prime  cut  of  the  sea-serpent  shook  his 
head  gloomily. 

"The  old  story,"  he  said  —  "professional 
jealousy.  It  started  with  my  bein'  cast  for  the 
front  legs  of  a  elephant  in  a  pantomime.  That 
was  the  stage-manager's  bit  of  spite.  My  usual 
place  is  the  'ind  legs  —  and  that  takes  a  bit  of 
doing,  I  can  tell  you.  (The  'ind  legs  'as  to  wag  the 
tail,  you  see.)  If  I  was  to  tell  you  the  number  of 
'ind  legs  I'd  played,  you'd  be  surprised,"  he 
continued,  plunging  into  an  orgy  of  irrelevant 
reminiscence.  "Why,  I  recollect  in  eighty-four, 
at  the  Old  Brit.,  'Oxton  way  — " 

"But  what  was  the  matter  with  the  front  legs 
you  were  speaking  of?"  enquired  Mr.  Welwyn 
opportunely. 

"The  matter,"  replied  Mr.  Stillbottle  testily, 
"  was  that  they  was  n't  'ind  legs.  Not  bein'  used 
to  them,  I  stepped  in  wrong  way  round  on  the 
first  night.  We  got  shoved  on  the  stage  somehow, 


270  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

but  every  time  we  started  to  move  I  ran  straight 
into  the  'ind  legs.  In  the  end  we  broke  the  ele- 
phant's back  between  us.  What  was  more,  we 
spoiled  the  Principal  Boy's  best  song.  The  audi- 
ence was  much  too  occupied  watchin'  a  elephant 
givin'  a  imitation  of  a  camel  to  listen  to  9er.  Be- 
sides, she  was  sittin'  on  the  elephant  'erself  at  the 
time,  and  bein'  rather  stout,  'ad  'er  work  cut  out 
to  'old  on.  She  got  me  fired  next  day.  Said  I 
was  n't  sober." 

"That  was  a  libel,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn  soothingly. 

"In  a  manner  of  speakin',"  replied  Mr.  Still- 
bottle  guardedly  —  "yes'"  He  took  up  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn's  sheet  of  note-paper  again. 

"What  is  all  this?"  he  enquired  rather  queru- 
lously. "Stage  directions,  or  cues,  or  what?" 

"Everything,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn.  "Your 
lines  and  business,  in  fact." 

Mr.  Stillbottle  nodded  comprehendingly,  and 
proceeded  to  read  aloud :  — 

"  When  front-door  bell  rings,  answer  door  and 
show  party  up,  asking  their  names  and  announcing 
them  distinctly." 

"You  can  do  that?" 

"I'll  'ave  a  dash  for  it,  anyway.  Then:  Bring 
in  tea  and  put  it  on  tea-table." 

Mr.  Stillbottle's  unsteady  gaze  wandered  round 
the  apartment  until  it  encountered  the  table. 


SIDELIGHTS  271 

"Tea-table,  left  centre,"  he  remarked  to  him- 
self. "  Then,  at  irregular  intervals,  come  in  and 
make  the  following  remarks  to  me:  —  that 's  you, 
I  suppose?" 

Mr.  Welwyn  nodded,  and  Mr.  Stillbottle  read 
the  paper  aloud  to  the  end.  Then  he  slowly  folded 
it  up,  and  remarked,  not  altogether  unreason- 
ably, that  he  was  damned.  He  added  a  respectful 
rider  in  the  French  tongue,  to  the  effect  that  Mr. 
Welwyn  was  tres  moutarde. 

"You  understand,"  said  his  employer  with 
great  seriousness  —  he  had  crossed  the  Rubicon 
now,  and  was  determined  to  risk  nothing  by  im- 
perfect rehearsal  —  "y°u  must  use  your  own  dis- 
cretion as  to  when  you  come  in  with  your  mes- 
sages. About  once  every  ten  minutes,  I  should 
say." 

"Don't  you  think,  governor,"  suggested  Mr. 
Stillbottle,  almost  timidly,  "that  that  last 
stretcher  —  the  one  about  the  shover  —  is  just 
a  bit  too  thick?  Suppose  your  guests  start  askin* 
to  see  the  car  —  what,  then?  You'll  be  in  the 
cart,  you  know!" 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn.  "I  am 
giving  the  car  up,  on  account  of  recent  taxation, 
and  so  on.  It  is  in  the  market  now,  and  may  be 
sold  at  any  moment  —  to-day,  perhaps. " 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Stillbottle  humbly. 
"I  see  I  can  teach  you  nothing."  Then  he  added, 


272  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

conversationally:  "Did  you  ever  know  a  Captain 
Slingsby,  by  any  chance?" 

"No.  Who  was  he?" 

"Another  of  the  lads,  like  yourself.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  have  been  workin*  with  him 
at  some  time.  I  came  acrost  him  once  or  twice. 
He  was  a  pretty  tough  nut.  His  line  was  to  dress 
up  as  a  curate  and  get  himself  adopted  by  rich 
widders ;  but  he  was  n't  the  artist  you  are,  sir.  He 
'ad  n't  your  education,  I  should  say.  Are  the 
whole  family  in  this,  may  I  enquire?" 

"Er  —  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn  helplessly. 

"Ah!"  Mr.  Stillbottle  nodded  his  head.  "I 
thought  somehow  that  I  had  come  on  a  happy 
visit  to  the  Nut  Family  as  soon  as  I  got  acquainted 
with  your  two  youngest.  Well,  it 's  a  pleasure  to 
work  with  people  at  the  top  of  their  profession, 
and  I'll  see  you  through." 

Mr.  Welwyn  thanked  him,  almost  inaudibly. 

"But  when  do  you  suppose,"  pursued  Mr.  Still- 
bottle,  transferring  his  feet  from  the  sofa  to  the 
floor,  "that  I  shall  get  out  of  this  Dramatic 
Academy  of  yours?  I  'ave  n't  come  'ere  for  a 
course,  you  know.  Are  you  going  to  touch  the 
tea-party  for  the  money,  or  let  me  distrain  on 
the  furniture,  or  what?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  at  present,"  said  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn; "but  I  will  endeavour  to  arrange  something 
by  the  evening." 


SIDELIGHTS  273 

"Well,  let  me  know  soon,  ole  sport,"  said  Mr. 
Stillbottle  —  "that's  all.  I  'ave  my  arrange- 
ments to  make,  too,  remember.  My  word,  look 
at  Mother!" 

This  interjection  was  occasioned  by  the  en- 
trance of  Mrs.  Welwyn  and  Amelia,  dressed  for 
the  party.  Mrs.  Welwyn  was  arrayed  in  a  quieter 
and  more  tasteful  fashion  than  might  have  been 
expected.  Her  costume,  which  had  been  designed 
and  constructed  by  her  eldest  daughter,  would 
have  struck  an  impartial  critic  as  one  which 
made  the  very  best  of  her  age  and  figure.  Amelia 
wore  a  short  white  frock,  with  a  blue  sash. 
Her  long  coppery  hair  flowed  to  her  waist, 
and  her  hazel  eyes  were  aglow  with  excite- 
ment. 

"Father  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  the  way 
Tilly  has  turned  me  out?"  enquired  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn gaily. 

For  the  moment  her  troubles  were  behind  her. 
For  once  she  was  suitably  —  and  to  the  outward 
eye  expensively  —  attired ;  and  the  knowledge  of 
the  fact  had  induced  in  her  humble  but  feminine 
soul  that  degree  of  minor  intoxication  which  the 
materially-minded  male  usually  achieves,  more 
grossly  but  less  extravagantly,  by  means  of  a 
pint  of  champagne. 

Slowly  gyrating  for  the  delectation  of  her  hus- 
band, Mrs.  Welwyn  unexpectedly  encountered 


274  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

the  unsympathetic  gaze  of  Mr.  Stillbottle.  She 
blushed  red,  and  ceased  to  revolve. 

"Oh,  that  you?"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  embar- 
rassed voice. 

"Yes,  it's  me  —  what's  left  of  me,"  replied 
Mr.  Stillbottle  lugubriously.  "Wearing  me  out, 
this  job  is." 

He  displayed  his  paper  of  cues. 

Mrs.  Welwyn  regarded  him  severely. 

"It's  time  you  dressed  yourself,"  she  said.  "I 
have  put  my  son's  evening  clothes  out  for  you  — 
in  the  bathroom,"  she  added  pointedly.  "You 
had  better  go  and  put  them  on.  He  is  bigger  than 
you,  but  you'll  manage." 

Mr.  Stillbottle  acquiesced. 

"  Very  good,"  he  remarked  graciously.  "  Ward- 
robe mistress  must  be  obeyed,  I  suppose.  I'm 
beginning  to  warm  up  to  this  part.  I  shall  sur- 
prise you  all  yet." 

"I  hope  not,"  murmured  Mr.  Welwyn  de- 
voutly. 

"Did  you  tell  him  about  the  name,  Father?" 
prompted  Amelia. 

"No,  I  forgot,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn.  "Mr.  Still- 
bottle,  I  think  this  afternoon  that  we  had  better 
address  you  by  some  other  name  than  your  own." 

"What,"  enquired  Mr.  Stillbottle,  with  a  touch 
of  hauteur,  "is  the  matter  with  me  own  little 
patteronymic?" 


SIDELIGHTS  275 

"Just  to  sustain  the  character,  you  know," 
urged  Mr.  Welwyn. 

Mr.  Stillbottle  sighed,  in  humorous  resigna- 
tion. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Confer  the  title." 

Mr.  Welwyn  turned  to  his  wife. 

"What  do  you  say  to  'Howard,'  Mother?"  he 
asked. 

"Nothing  with  an  H  in  front  of  it  for  me, 
dearie,  if  you  please,"  announced  Mrs.  Welwyn 
firmly.  "I  can  see  enough  rocks  of  that  kind 
ahead  of  me  this  afternoon  as  it  is." 

"Why  not  'Russell'?"  suggested  Amelia. 
"Russell  Square,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Welwyn  stroked  her  resourceful  little 
daughter's  hair  gratefully. 

"That  will  do  finely,"  she  said.  "You  are 
Russell,"  she  announced  briefly  to  Mr.  Stillbottle. 

The  newly  christened  infant  acquiesced  list- 
lessly, and  rose  from  the  sofa. 

"Now  I  must  tear  myself  away,"  he  said,  "to 
don  me  trunks  and  'ose  and  get  up  this  patter. 
I'm  a  slow  study.  No  promptin',  I  presume?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn. 

"Gaggin'  permitted?"  enquired  Mr.  Still- 
bottle,  without  much  hope. 

"Certainly  not." 

"Very  good.  So  long,  everybody.  Exit  Russell, 
door  in  back." 


276  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

With  a  theatrical  gesture,  the  ci-devant  im- 
personator of  elephants'  hind  legs  disappeared. 
The  Welwyns  regarded  one  another  apprehen- 
sively. 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn. 

"We  must  make  the  best  of  him,  Martha," 
said  her  husband.  "After  all,  we  did  not  invite 
him  here  of  our  own  accord :  he  has  to  be  present 
in  the  house  in  some  capacity.  Still,  I  admit  he  is 
the  weak  spot  in  our  enterprise  —  the  heel  of 
Achilles,  so  to  speak." 

But  Mr.  Welwyn  was  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XX 

REHEARSED   EFFECTS 

"//AS  -Herbert,"  enquired  Mrs.  Welwyn,  tak- 
ing a  deep  breath,  "Aurt  Horace?"  She  choked. 
"Oh,  dear!" 

"Very  good,  Mumsie,"  said  Amelia  encourag- 
ingly. "Goon." 

"But  it  puts  me  out  of  breath  so,  child,  as  soon 
as  I  begin  to  think  of  it,"  complained  her  pupil. 
"I  shall  never  learn." 

"Yes,  you  will,"  said  Amelia  confidently. 
"H's  are  just  a  matter  of  proper  breathing, 
Daddy  says.  Now  try  the  next  sentence,  and 
remember  there's  a  trap  in  it!" 

Miss  Amelia  seated  herself  upon  the  floor,  clasp- 
ing her  long  black  legs  with  her  arms  and  resting 
her  chin  on  her  knees. 

"Now,"  she  said,  with  a  little  nod. 

Conscientious  Mrs.  Welwyn,  having  audibly 
recharged  her  lungs,  now  began  to  emit  another 
heavily  aspirated  sentence. 

"flildebrand,"  she  announced,  "Aas  hit  Henry 
hard  ^intentionally.  There,  that's  done  it!" 
She  sighed  despairingly. 

"And  I  warned  you,  Mother,"  said  Amelia 


278  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

reproachfully.  "That  last  word  is  put  in  on  pur- 
pose to  trip  you  up." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  her  mother  with  an 
apologetic  smile.  "And  it  always  does.  You 
can't  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,  ducky,  and 
that 's  a  fact.  I  have  always  been  common  in  my 
talk,  and  common  in  my  talk  I  always  will  be.  All 
I  can  promise  is  that  I  will  do  my  best  this  after- 
noon; and  I  hope,  for  all  of  your  sakes,  that  your 
old  mother  won't  go  and  disgrace  you." 

Little  'Melia's  reply  to  this  humble  aspiration 
was  an  embrace  which  entirely  disorganised  the 
hooks  and  eyes  at  the  back  of  Martha  Welwyn's 
festal  garment.  While  the  disaster  was  being  re- 
paired, Tilly  entered  briskly.  In  her  hand  she 
held  a  printed  card,  bearing  the  legend 

APARTMENTS 

in  staring  letters.  This  she  dropped  behind  the 
piano. 

"Hook  me  up  behind,  'Melia,  will  you,"  she 
said,  "when  you  have  finished  Mother?  No,  I'll 
do  Mother  and  you  do  me.  Your  hair-ribbon  is 
wrong.  Let  me  get  hold  of  it." 

The  Welwyns,  mere  etfilles,  formed  themselves 
into  a  voluble  equilateral  triangle. 

"I  found  that  *  Apartments'  card  lying  on  the 
hall  table,"  said  Tilly  with  a  shiver.  "I  suppose 


REHEARSED  EFFECTS  279 

Russell  took  it  out  of  the  drawer  when  he  was 
making  his  inventory.  A  nice  thing  if  they  had 
all  marched  in  through  the  front  door  at  that 
very  moment !  Still,"  she  added  cheerily, "  there 's 
no  harm  done.  Am  I  all  right,  do  you  think?" 

"Tilly,  you  look  lovely,"  said  Amelia. 

"One  thing  about  being  a  dress-designer,"  ad- 
mitted Tilly,  kissing  her  little  sister,  "  is  that  you 
can  design  yourself  a  dress.  'Melia,  you  look  a  lit- 
tle duck.  Mother,  your  hair  is  n't  quite  right.  Let 
me  pull  it  out  a  bit  here." 

She  tweaked  the  coiffure  of  her  much-endur- 
ing parent  into  position,  whistling  blithely.  Her 
cheeks  were  pink,  her  eyes  sparkled.  She  was 
determined  to  look  her  best  for  Dicky  that  day. 
And  to  do  her  justice,  she  did. 

"Tilly  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Welwyn  dubi- 
ously, "can  we  all  get  round  that  table  for  tea?  " 

"Gracious!"  cried  Tilly,  observing  the  heavily 
loaded  table  for  the  first  time.  "You  are  never 
going  to  plant  everybody  round  that,  like  nur- 
sery tea?" 

"Ain't  we?"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  blankly. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Tilly. 

Swiftly  she  sketched  out  the  fundamentals  of 
that  meal  which  combines  the  maximum  of  dis- 
comfort with  the  minimum  of  nourishment  — 
afternoon-tea  as  consumed  by  high  society  in  the 
present  period  —  and  in  three  minutes  the  great 


280  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

round  table,  tipped  onto  its  edge,  was  trundled 
rapidly  into  Mr.  Welwyn's  bedroom,  to  the  sur- 
prise and  discomfort  of  Mr.  Welwyn,  who  was 
dressing  at  the  time. 

"Now  a  small  tea-table,"  commanded  Tilly. 

"There  is  n't  such  a  thing  in  the  house,  love," 
panted  her  overheated  parent. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  said  little  'Melia,  the  ever- 
ready.  "In  Mr.  Pumpherston's  room.  He  keeps 
a  text  framed  in  fir-cones  on  it." 

''You're  right,  dear;  I  had  forgotten,"  ad- 
mitted Mrs.  Welwyn.  "Well,  Pumpherston  is 
going  to  get  bounced  this  evening]  anyway,  so 
we  might  as  well  have  his  table  now  as  then. 
Come  with  me  and  get  it.  He's  out." 

Left  alone,  Tilly  flitted  about  the  room,  re- 
viving its  faded  glories  as  far  as  she  was  able  by 
deft  touches  here  and  there;  straightening  cur- 
tains, patting  cushions,  and  confiding  to  various 
unresponsive  articles  of  upholstery  the  informa- 
tion that  her  Love  was  like  a  Red,  Red  Rose. 

"Tea-table  here,  I  think,"  she  said,  pausing. 
"Probably  Lady  Adela  would  have  hers  nearer 
the  fire;  but  then  Lady  Adela's  drawing-room 
carpet  has  not  got  a  hole  in  it.  Come  in!" 

The  door  opened,  and  an  eerie  figure  appeared. 
It  was  Mr.  Russell  —  ne  Stillbottle  —  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  wearing  an  insecurely  fastened 
dickey.  His  black  trousers,  being  much  too  long 


REHEARSED  EFFECTS  281 

for  him,  presented  a  corrugated  appearance.  In 
his  hand  he  carried  a  great  bunch  of  pink  carna- 
tions. 

"These  'ave  just  been  'anded  in,  Miss,"  he 
announced.  "No  name,  and"  —  with  a  slight 
note  of  congratulation  in  his  voice  —  "nothing 
to  pay." 

Tilly  thanked  him,  and,  taking  the  flowers, 
buried  her  face  in  the  heart  of  the  bunch.  When 
she  withdrew  it  she  foundi  that  Mr.  4Stillbottle 
was  still  present. 

"If  you  could  find  him,  Miss,"  he  said  defer- 
entially, "I  should  like  to  'ave  a  word  with  the 
Chief  Nut." 

"Who?" 

"The  old  feller  that's  running  this  fake." 

"Oh,  my  father?"  said  Tilly,  biting  her  lip. 
"He  is  dressing,  I  think."  She  tucked  three  or 
four  carnations  into  her  belt  and  began  to  ar- 
range the  others  in  a  bowl. 

"Then,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "you  could 
advise  me  on  a  purely  personal  matter." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Tilly  absently.  Dicky's 
gift  still  claimed  all  her  attention. 

"It's  these  trousers,  Miss,"  explained  Russell 
confidentially.  "They  are  the  pair  supplied  by 
the  management;  and  between  ourselves  I  don't 
think  they  suit  me.  Brother  Perce  may  'ave  a 
faithful  'eart,  but  'e  's  built  all  wrong.  These  trous- 


282  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ers  are  six  or  eight  inches  too  long  in  the  leg.  I  feel 
as  if  I  was  wearin'  a  pair  of  concertinas.  Now  —  " 

This  sartorial  jeremiad  was  cut  short  by  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Welwyn,  who,  travelling  full- 
speed  astern  and  towing  Amelia  and  the  tea-table 
of  Pumpherston  in  her  wake,  butted  the  double 
doors  open,  and  backed  heavily  into  the  orator. 
Mr.  Russell,  looking  deeply  injured,  retired  to 
complete  his  toilet. 

"That's  better,"  said  Tilly,  when  the  small 
tea-table  had  been  placed  over  the  hole  in  the 
carpet,  and  the  tea-tray  had  been  placed  over  a 
hole  in  the  tablecloth.  "Is  everything  ready?" 

"Yes,"  said  Amelia. 

"What  about  the  babies?" 

"  I  have  washed  and  dressed  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Welwyn.  "Melia  will  fetch  them  down  for  a 
few  minutes  about  a  quarter-to-six." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Tilly  approvingly. 
"They  are  darlings,  both  of  them,  and  I  should 
like  to  have  them  down  all  the  time,  but  it 's  too 
risky.  What  time  is  it  now?" 

"Ten  minutes  to  five,"  said  Amelia. 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Welwyn,  greatly 
agitated  at  the  proximity  of  her  hour.  "Where 
shall  I  sit,  Tilly  dear?" 

"On  the  sofa,  Mumsie;  and  don't  get  hot,  be- 
cause you  are  looking  very  nice,"  said  Tilly  sooth- 
ingly. "Hallo,  Dad  —  just  in  time!" 


REHEARSED  EFFECTS  283 

Mr.  Welwyn  in  a  frock-coat,  looking  quite  the 
scholar  and  gentleman,  had  entered  from  his 
bedroom. 

"I  perceive  the  feast  is  spread/'  he  observed 
jauntily.  "Mistress  of  Ceremonies,  how  do  we 
dispose  ourselves?" 

"Mother  here,"  replied  meticulous  Tilly  — 
"on  the  sofa  with  the  'Morning  Post.'  I  picked 
it  up  off  the  floor  of  the  railway-carriage  this 
morning.  Don't  read  it;  just  be  glancing  at  it 
carelessly.  Father,  sit  by  the  fire  with  a  book. 
Here 's  one.  'Melia,  you  had  better  be  on  a  foot- 
stool at  Mother's  feet,  with  your  head  against 
her  knee.  Don't  fall  over  her  when  you  get  up, 
Mother.  And  don't  come  forward  more  than 
three  steps  to  meet  Lady  Adela :  you  're  as  good 
as  she  is,  remember.  Say  it's  very  sweet  of  her  to 
come  all  this  way.  And  if  you  call  her  'your 
Ladyship,'  I  shall  walk  straight  across  the  room 
and  kill  you  —  see?" 

"Yes,  lovey,"  sighed  the  flustered  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn. " What  do  I  call  her?" 

"Lady  Adela — not  Lady  Main  waring,  mind ! " 

"It  sounds  so  familiar,  starting  Christian 
names  right  off,"  objected  Mrs.  Welwyn  feebly. 

"Never  mind;  you've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Tilly 
ruthlessly.  "I  shall  be  here  by  the  tea-table,  and 
if  any  of  you  get  on  to  thin  ice  I  shall  drop  a  tea- 
spoon. Do  you  all  understand?" 


284  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"Yes,  Tilly,"  replied  a  respectful  chorus. 

"Very  well,  then,"  replied  the  Mistress  of 
Ceremonies.  "Now  let  me  see  you  all  in  your 
places.  Attention!" 

Tilly  clapped  her  hands,  and  her  well-drilled 
retinue  froze  into  their  appointed  attitudes. 

"Don't  hold  the  *  Morning  Post'  as  if  you  were 
trying  to  lick  butter  off  it,  Mother,"  said  Tilly. 
"'Melia,  pull  up  your  stocking.  Dad,  you  are 
splendid,  but  you  are  laughing.  This  is  a  serious 
business,  remember.  Now,  all  keep  like  that  for 
two  minutes,  to  see  if  —  Mercy  on  us,  here  they 
are!" 

But  she  was  wrong. 

The  door  creaked,  and  swung  slowly  open,  to 
admit  the  attentuated  figure  of  Grandma  Banks, 
who  in  the  most  unconcerned  fashion  possible 
hobbled  across  the  room  to  the  fireplace  and 
seated  herself  in  the  vacant  armchair  opposite 
to  her  son-in-law,  with  every  appearance  of 
having  come  to  anchor  for  the  evening. 

**••«•••* 

Grandma's  descendants  gathered  into  a  panic- 
stricken  knot  in  the  corner. 

"She  can't  stay!"  whispered  Tilly  frantically. 
"Mother,  get  her  to  bed." 

"My  dearie,"  responded  Mrs.  Welwyn  help- 
lessly, "you  know  what  she  is  when  she  smells  a 
ratl" 


REHEARSED  EFFECTS  285 

"Try,  anyhow!"  urged  Tilly,  glancing  fever- 
ishly at  the  clock. 

Mrs.  Welwyn  approached  her  aged  parent  much 
as  a  small  boy  approaches  a  reputed  wasp's  nest. 

"Mother,"  she  said  nervously. 

"Eh?"  replied  Mrs.  Banks,  looking  up 
sharply  and  scrutinising  her  daughter  over  her 
glasses.  "  What  'ave  you  got  them  things  on  for? 
Coin'  out  somewhere?  At  your  age,  too!"  she 
added  irrelevantly. 

"Yes  —  no  —  yes,"  stammered  Martha  Wel- 
wyn, who  tampered  with  the  truth  with  diffi- 
culty. "I've  arranged  for  you  to  have  your  tea 
in  your  own  room  this  afternoon,  Mother." 

"Why?"  enquired  Mrs.  Banks  at  once. 

"You  are  not  looking  very  well,"  interposed 
Mr.  Welwyn  rashly. 

"I'm  eighty-one,"  retorted  the  old  lady  with 
great  spirit,  "and  as  'earty  as  ever  I  was,  Wel- 
wyn. I  shall  'ave  my  tea  in  'ere." 

"We  rather  want  this  room  this  afternoon, 
dear,"  resumed  Mrs.  Welwyn  gallantly.  "Father 
has  some  people  coming  in  on  business." 

"Is  Father  going  to  get  a  job  of  work  to  do?" 
riposted  Grandma  Banks,  in  tones  of  gratified 
surprise. 

Mr.  Welwyn  blew  his  nose  sheepishly,  and  the 
clock  struck  five.  Tilly  came  forward  and  knelt 
by  her  grandmother's  chair. 


286  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY) 

"It  is  very  important  for  all  of  us,  Granny," 
she  pleaded,  "that  Father  should  have  an  undis- 
turbed talk  with  these  people;  so  we  thought  we 
would  keep  this  room  clear  this  afternoon.  You 
don't  want  to  be  troubled  with  strangers,  do  you? 
Nasty,  loud-voiced  people." 

"I  likes  people  with  loud  voices,"  replied  the 
old  lady  cantankerously.  "I  can  'ear  what  they 
says." 

"But  they're  only  going  to  talk  business," 
urged  Tilly.  "Come  along,  there's  a  dear  old 
Grandma.  You'll  be  much  more  comfortable  in 
your  own  room.  There's  a  nice  fire  there,  and 
I'll  bring  you  in  a  lovely  tea.  Take  my  arm." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Banks  had  been  raised  to 
her  feet,  and  now  found  herself  being  gently 
but  inexorably  propelled  in  the  direction  of  the 
door.  . 

"You  don't  want  me,  that's  the  truth,"  she 
observed,  getting  reluctantly  under  way.  "  You  're 
ashamed  of  your  old  Grandma,  that 's  what  it  is." 

"Nonsense,  darling,"  said  Tilly.  "You  know 
how  fond  we  all  are  of  you.  But  you  would  only 
be  tired  out  by  a  lot  of  people." 

"No,"  persisted  the  old  lady,  "you  don't  want 
me." 

She  hobbled  through  the  door  on  her  grand- 
daughter's arm,  still  speaking  the  truth. 

"Poor  old  Granny!"  Tilly's  voice  said  very 


REHEARSED  EFFECTS  287 

gently.  "I  promise  to  make  it  all  up  to  you  some 
day." 

The  bedroom  door  on  the  other  side  of  the 
landing  was  heard  to  open  and  shut,  and  there 
was  momentary  silence.  Then  the  front-door  bell 
emitted  a  majestic  peal.  The  sound  thrilled  the 
Welwyns  like  a  tocsin.  Tilly  darted  in. 

"  Get  to  your  places,"  she  whispered. 

The  troupe  hastily  resumed  their  proper  poses, 
and  a  tense  silence  ensued. 

Mrs.  Welwyn  took  a  deep  breath. 

".Has  Horace,"  she  enquired  in  a  hoarse  and 
hysterical  whisper,  "Aurt  Herbert ?  No,  but 
tfildebrand  —  " 

"They  are  in  the  hall,"  hissed  Amelia. 

"They  are  coming  up,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn 
calmly. 

Suddenly  Tilly's  fortitude  deserted  her. 

"I  can't  bear  it!"  she  wailed,  and  bolted 
incontinently  through  the  inner  door  into  her 
father's  room. 

"Tilly  darling,  don't  leave  us!"  was  the 
agonised  cry  of  Mrs.  Welwyn  and  Amelia.  .  .  . 

Next  moment  Mr.  Welwyn,  finding  himself 
alone  in  his  own  drawing-room,  rose  to  his  feet 
and,  as  rapidly  as  was  compatible  with  the  dig- 
nity of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  joined  the 
panic-stricken  mob  in  his  bedroom. 

Almost  simultaneously  the  door  onto  the  land- 


288  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ing  was  thrown  open,  and  Mr.  Stillbottle's 
wheezy  voice  announced :  — 

"Lord  Main  waring,  Lady  Main  waring,  and 
party!"  Then  in  a  surprised  and  informal 
tone:  — 

"Hallo!  Stage  clear?" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

UNREHEARSED 

MR.  MAINWARING,  Lady  Adela,  and  party  — 
the  latter  comprised  Sylvia,  Connie  Carmyle,  and 
Dicky  —  came  to  a  standstill  in  the  middle  of 
the  vast  and  empty  drawing-room  and  looked  en- 
quiringly about  them.  Lady  Adela,  upon  whom 
the  labour  of  climbing  the  staircase  had  told 
heavily,  first  deleted  from  her  features  the  stately 
smile  which  she  had  mechanically  assumed  before 
crossing  the  threshold,  and  then  began  to  sit 
down  upon  the  piece  of  furniture  which  Mr. 
Stillbottle  had  recently  valued  at  twelve-and-six- 
pence. 

"I  would  n't  set  in  that  chair,  mum,  not  if  I 
was  you,"  remarked  a  husky  voice  in  her  ear. 
"The  off  'ind  leg  is  a  trifle  dicky." 

Lady  Adela,  suspended  in  mid-air  like  Maho- 
met's coffin,  started  violently  upwards  into  a  ver- 
tical position,  and  then,  having,  on  the  advice  of 
the  officious  Mr.  Stillbottle,  selected  the  sofa, 
took  in  the  drawing-room  with  one  comprehen- 
sive sweep  of  her  lorgnette. 

Mr.  Stillbottle  withdrew,  doubtless  to  con  his 
lines. 

"H'm,"  remarked  Lady  Adela.   "This  is  evi- 


290  ,  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

dently  not  one  of  the  rooms  that  has  just  been 
in  the  hands  of  the  painters  and  decorators." 

"Dick,"  enquired  Sylvia,  who  had  been  super- 
ciliously inspecting  the  mahogany  whatnot  with 
the  deal  back,  "who  was  that  furtive  Oriental 
person  who  slipped  past  us  on  the  staircase?  Not 
another  future  relative-in-law,  I  trust." 

"The  stout  nigger  gentleman,  you  mean?"  said 
Dicky,  with  unimpaired  good  humour.  "I  fancy 
he  must  have  been  calling  on  Mr.  Welwyn  about 
his  studies.  I  have  a  notion  that  London  Univer- 
sity is  somewhere  about  here." 

"What  a  jolly  old-fashioned  house  this  is,"  said 
Connie  from  the  window-seat.  "How  nice  and 
shady  this  big  square  must  be  in  summer." 

"It  is  a  fairly  shady  locality  all  the  year  round, 
I  fancy,"  observed  Sylvia  sweetly. 

Kind-hearted  Mr.  Main  waring  coughed,  and 
looked  unhappily  towards  his  son.  But  Dicky 
did  not  appear  to  have  heard.  He  had  just  dis- 
covered his  carnations. 

Lady  Adela  took  up  the  tale. 

"There  was  a  small  but  ferocious-looking 
creature  with  red  whiskers,"  she  announced, 
"hanging  over  the  banisters  on  the  top  floor. 
Who  would  he  be,  now?" 

"Don't  ask  me,  Mum,"  said  Dicky.  "I've 
never  been  in  the  house  before,  remember,  except 
downstairs.  Probably  a  paper-hanger,  or  — " 


UNREHEARSED  291 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  stately 
procession  headed  by  Mrs.  Welwyn,  the  rest 
following  in  single  file. 

Tilly  effected  the  necessary  introductions  pret- 
tily and  with  perfect  composure;  and  presently 
the  company  assorted  itself  into  what  we  will 
call  Tableau  Number  One.  Mr.  Welwyn  led  Lady 
Adela  back  to  the  seat  which  she  had  vacated. 

"  Most  of  the  furniture  in  this  mansion  of  ours 
is  Early  Victorian,"  he  announced  with  a  ready 
laugh;  "but  I  think  you  will  find  this  sofa  com- 
fortably Edwardian,  Lady  Adela." 

Lady  Adela,  favourably  impressed  with  her 
host's  appearance  and  manner,  smiled  graciously 
and  once  more  cautiously  lowered  herself  onto 
the  sofa.  Here,  in  obedience  to  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible sign  from  her  husband,  the  quaking  Mrs. 
Welwyn  joined  her,  and  announced,  in  a  voice 
which  she  entirely  failed  to  recognise  as  her  own, 
that  it  was  very  sweet  of  them  all  to  come  so  far. 

Amelia  ran  impulsively  to  Dicky  and  kissed 
him.  Mrs.  Carmyle,  Sylvia,  and  Tilly  fell  into  a 
chattering  group  round  the  tea-table.  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn and  Mr.  Mainwaring  shook  hands  warmly 
and  exchanged  greetings.  The  tea-party  was 
launched. 

" How  many  years  is  it,  Welwyn?"  asked  Mr. 
Mainwaring. 

"Let  us  not  rake  up  the  past,  my  dear  Main- 


292  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

waring,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn.  "More  years  than 
we  care  to  count  —  eh?  We'll  leave  it  at  that. 
But  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  again.  I  wonder 
how  the  old  College  prospers.  Foster  was  your 
tutor,  was  n't  he?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Mainwaring,  pleasantly 
flattered  to  find  that  a  man  who  had  been  two 
years  senior  to  him  should  remember  so  much 
about  him. 

"Mine,  too,"  mentioned  Mr.  Welwyn,  as  if 
determined  to  put  his  guest  at  his  ease. 

"He's  a  bishop  now,  I  hear,"  said  Mr.  Main- 
waring. 

"Eheu,fugacesl"  sighed  Mr.  Welwyn.  "Come 
and  sit  by  the  fire." 

"I  think  we  had  better  have  tea,  Tilly,"  said 
Mrs.  Welwyn,  as  per  programme. 

The  Welwyn  family,  recognising  a  cue,  began 
to  bestir  themselves  for  Tableau  Number  Two. 

"I  seem  to  hear  it  coming  up,  Mother,"  replied 
Tilly. 

She  was  right.  Portentous  rattlings  and  puff- 
ings were  now  audible  without.  Next  moment 
the  doors  were  bumped  open  and  Mr.  Stillbottle 
appeared,  carrying  the  tea-pot  on  a  tray. 

Apparently  something  was  on  his  mind.  His 
appearance  was  that  of  a  righteous  man  deeply 
wronged.  His  was  the  demeanour  of  a  British 
artisan  compelled  by  forces  which  he  cannot 


UNREHEARSED  293 

control  to  perform  a  task  not  included  in  his 
contract. 

A  moment  later  the  situation  explained  itself. 
Behind  Mr.  Stillbottle,  clinging  affectionately  to 
his  flowing  coat-tails,  marched  The  Caution  and 
The  Cure.  They  were  dressed  in  white,  and 
looked  exactly  alike  except  that  The  Caution 
wore  abbreviated  white  knickerbockers  and  The 
Cure  a  little  white  skirt.  Their  socks  were  white, 
their  sashes  and  chubby  legs  were  a  radiant  pink, 
and  the  angelic  countenance  of  each  was  wreathed 
in  smiles. 

The  procession  drew  up  at  the  tea-table,  where 
its  leader  proceeded  to  deposit  the  tea-pot.  For  a 
moment  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation, 
while  the  hearts  of  the  Welwyns  stood  still.  The 
Twins,  uncontrolled,  sometimes  erred  on  the 
side  of  originality. 

"He's  the  Queen,"  explained  The  Cure,  indi- 
cating the  flinching  figure  of  Mr.  Stillbottle. 

:'Yesh;  and  we're  holdin*  up  of  his  train," 
added  The  Caution. 

Next  moment  Connie  Carmyle  had  captured 
them  both. 

'You  darlings!"  she  cried,  and  carried  them 
off  to  the  window-seat.  The  situation  was  saved. 

"Little  pets!"  observed  Lady  Adela,  smiling. 

Even  Sylvia  forgot  to  pose  for  a  moment.  Tea 
was  served  amid  a  hum  of  cheerful  conversation. 


294  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  children  had  evoked  the  maternal  instinct, 
and  all  was  well. 

Only  Mr.  Stillbottle  remained  cold. 

"You  oughter  'ave  kep'  them  locked  up  some- 
where," he  announced  severely  to  Tilly;  and  left 
the  room. 

"I  don't  see  your  son  here,  Mrs.  Welwyn," 
said  Lady  Adela.  "We  had  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  for  a  few  minutes  on  Saturday." 

"He  will  be  here  any  minute,  your  —  Lady 
Adela,"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn  with  a  jerk.  "He 
is  usually  kept  in  the  City  till  close  on  five,  poor 
boy." 

"That  aged  retainer  of  yours  seems  to  be  a  bit 
of  an  autocrat,  Tilly,"  said  Dicky,  taking  Mrs. 
Carmyle's  chair  at  the  tea-table. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Tilly,  feeling  rather  miserable 
at  having  to  talk  to  Dicky  in  this  strain;  "but 
you  know  what  old  servants  are.  In  their  eyes 
we  never  grow  up." 

"Has  he  been  with  you  for  long,  then?"  en- 
quired Sylvia,  with  a  deep  appearance  of  interest. 

"How  long  has  Russell  been  with  us,  Mother?" 
said  Tilly,  noting  that  Mrs.  Welwyn's  conversa- 
tion with  Lady  Adela  was  beginning  to  flag. 

"  I  can't  remember,  dear.  It  seems  a  long  time, 
anyhow,"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn  with  sincerity. 
"Ah,  here  is  Percy.  Come  in,  my  boy.  Just  in 
time  to  hand  round  the  cakes!" 


UNREHEARSED  295 

"You  can  trust  little  Perce,"  observed  that 
engaging  youth,  entirely  at  his  ease,  "to  be  on 
the  spot  at  the  right  moment.  How  de  do,  Lady 
Adela?  I  hope  this  finds  you  as  it  leaves  me." 

He  shook  the  very  limp  hand  of  Lady  Adela, 
and  having  bestowed  an  ingratiating  smile  upon 
Sylvia,  proceeded  amid  a  slowly  intensifying 
silence  to  offer  a  humorous  greeting  to  Mr.  Main- 
waring.  Finally  he  turned  to  Dicky,  and  slapped 
him  boisterously  upon  the  shoulder. 

"Well,  my  brave  Ricardo,"  he  enquired,  "how 
goes  it?" 

"Percy,  dear  old  thing,"  responded  Dicky 
promptly,  with  his  most  vacant  laugh,  "how 
splendid  to  see  you  again !  Come  and  tell  me  all 
about  your  club  run  on  Sunday." 

He  drew  the  flamboyant  cyclist  to  a  place  of 
safety,  and  Tilly  breathed  again. 

"There  is  sugar  and  cream  in  this  cup,  Lady 
Adela,"  said  Amelia,  with  a  neat  bob-curtsey. 

"Thank  you,  little  girl,"  said  Lady  Adela, 
taking  the  cup  and  smiling  indulgently.  ("  Like  a 
Duchess  out  slumming,"  Amelia  told  Tilly  af- 
terwards.) "What  pretty  manners!"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Mrs.  Welwyn.  "Where  do 
you  send  her  to  school?  I  used  to  find  it  so  diffi- 
cult—" 

"She  has  left  school,"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn. 
"  I  suppose  we  ought  to  send  her  somewhere  to  get 


296  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

finished  later  on,  but  there  —  we  can't  do  with- 
out her,  and  that's  the  truth.  Can  we,  dear?" 

Martha  Welwyn  put  an  arm  round  her  little 
daughter.  She  was  talking  with  greater  freedom 
and  confidence  now,  with  her  aspirates  under 
perfect  control. 

"I  can  quite  understand  that,"  said  Lady  Adela 
affably.  "I  dare  say  you  find  her  indispen- 
sable." 

"I  should  think  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Welwyn, 
lowering  her  guard.  "What  with  all  the  stair- 
cases, and  a  basement  kitchen,  and  separate 
meals  — " 

Tilly  dropped  a  teaspoon  with  a  clatter  on  to 
the  tray. 

"I 'm  so  sorry,  Sylvia,"  she  said.  "Did  I  make 
you  jump?" 

"No,"  responded  Sylvia  absently.  "I  was 
looking  at  your  butler.  He  seems  to  have  some- 
thing on  his  mind." 

Mr.  Stillbottle,  who  had  entered  the  room  two 
minutes  previously,  and  had  been  awaiting  an 
opportunity  of  gaining  the  ear  of  the  company, 
took  advantage  of  the  partial  silence  which  now 
ensued. 

"A  person  has  called,  sir,"  he  announced  to 
Mr.  Welwyn,  "for  to  iron  the  billiard  table." 

Mr.  Welwyn  broke  off  his  conversation  with 
Mr.  Mainwaring. 


UNREHEARSED  297 

" Thank  you,"  he  said  in  an  undertone.  "Let 
him  do  so  by  all  means." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Stillbottle,  turning 
to  go. 

"Tell  him,"  added  Percy,  highly  pleased  with 
the  manner  in  which  the  little  comedy  was  unfold- 
ing itself,  "to  see  if  any  of  the  cues  want  tips." 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Stillbottle,  in  a  voice 
which  plainly  asked  why  Percy  should  "gag," 
when  he  might  not. 

The  door  closed  once  more,  and  another  hurdle 
was  negotiated.  The  Welwyns  heaved  little  sighs 
of  relief:  Russell's  was  an  unnerving  presence. 
But  Tilly  glanced  at  the  honest,  laughing  face 
of  the  man  who  loved  her,  and  felt  suddenly 
ashamed. 

"Quite  a  character,  that  old  fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Welwyn  breezily.  "Incorrigibly  idle;  painfully 
outspoken;  a  domestic  tyrant  of  the  most  oppres- 
sive type;  but  honest  as  the  day.  I  must  get  some 
one  to  put  him  in  a  book.  Lady  Adela,  you  have 
nothing  to  eat." 

Mr.  Welwyn  deftly  changed  places  with  his 
wife,  who  gratefully  engaged  in  a  conversation 
with  Mr.  Mainwaring;  and  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany performed  one  of  those  complicated  evolu- 
tions which  children  call  a  "general  post,"  and 
which  affords  persons  of  mature  years  but  intel- 
lectual poverty  the  inestimable  boon  of  being 


298  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

able  to  employ  the  same  topics  of  conversation 
several  times  over.  Tableau  Number  Three  was 
now  set. 

For  a  moment  Dicky  and  Tilly  found  themselves 
together. 

"Tea,  old  man?"  asked  Tilly,  offering  a  cup. 

"Thanks,  little  thing,"  replied  Dicky,  touching 
her  hand  under  the  saucer. 

"Did  you  send  these?"  Tilly  looked  down  at 
her  pink  carnations. 

Dicky  nodded,  and  his  gaze  became  suddenly 
ecstatic. 

"Tilly,"  he  said  in  tones  of  exultant  pride,."  you 
are  looking  perfectly  beautiful." 

"This  is  a  strictly  business  meeting,"  smiled 
Tilly;  but  her  heart  bumped  foolishly.  For  a 
moment  nothing  seemed  to  matter  save  the  know- 
ledge that  Dicky  loved  her  and  she  loved  Dicky. 

The  next  event  of  any  importance  was  the 
discovery  that  Mrs.  Carmyle,  engrossed  with  the 
twins,  had  had  no  tea.  There  were  cries  of  con- 
trition from  the  Welwyn  family,  and  Connie  was 
hurried  to  the  tea-table,  followed  by  the  desolat- 
ing howls  of  her  youthful  admirers — howls  which 
increased  to  yells  when  Mrs.  Welwyn  announced 
that  it  was  time  for  them  to  return  whence  they 
came.  However,  they  were  pacified  by  an  offer 
from  their  new  friend  to  accompany  them  part  of 
the  way;  and  after  submitting  with  a  sweetness 


UNREHEARSED  299 

as  adorable  as  it  was  unexpected  to  an  embrace 
from  Lady  Adela,  they  left  the  room  clinging  to 
Connie's  skirts,  having  contributed  to  the  pro- 
gramme the  one  unassailably  successful  item  of 
the  whole  afternoon. 

Amelia  went  with  them,  but  returned  almost 
immediately. 

"Mrs.  Carmyle  is  telling  them  a  story  in  the 
dining-room,"  she  said  to  her  mother.  "They 
are  as  good  as  gold  with  her." 

"Dear  Constance!  She  is  a  fairy  godmother  to 
all  children,"  remarked  Lady  Adela,  who  was 
feeling  quite  remarkably  beatific. 

"Yes — children  of  all  ages,"  corroborated 
Dicky,  catching  Tilly's  eye. 

"I  declare,"  cried  Mrs.  Welwyn  suddenly,  as 
this  pleasant  episode  terminated,  "I  had  almost 
forgotten.  Tilly  dear,  you  had  better  take  your 
grandmother's  tea  in  to  her." 

"All  right,  Mother,"  assented  Tilly  blithely. 
The  party  was  shaping  into  a  success. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Lady  Adela,"  said  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn, picking  up  the  new  topic  with  the  readiness 
of  a  practised  conversationalist,  "that  you  will 
not  meet  my  wife's  mother  this  afternoon.  She 
spends  a  good  deal  of  her  time  with  us.  A  dear 
old  lady  —  quite  of  the  Early  Victorian  school." 

"She  is  not  unwell,  I  hope,"  said  Lady  Adela 
politely. 


300  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"A  slight  chill  —  a  mere  nothing,"  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn  assured  her;  "but  at  that  age  one  has  to  be 
careful.  The  doctor  is  keeping  her  in  bed  to-day. 
I  regret  it,  because  I  think  you  would  have  en- 
joyed a  conversation  with  her.  She  is  a  mistress 
of  the  rounded  phrase  and  polished  diction  of 
two  generations  ago.  So  unlike  the  staccato  stuff 
that  passes  for  conversation  nowadays." 

"Too  true,  too  true!"  agreed  Lady  Adela, 
eagerly  mounting  one  of  her  pet  hobby-horses. 
"She  sounds  most  stimulating.  It  is  unfashion- 
able to-day  to  be  elderly.  My  daughter  informs 
me  that  no  one  —  not  even  a  grandmother  — • 
should  have  any  recollection  of  anything  that 
happened  previous  to  the  period  when  people 
wore  bustles.  All  time  before  that  she  sums  up 
as  the  chignon  age.  No,  there  is  no  sense  of  per- 
spective nowadays.  We  are  all  for  the  present." 

"Admirably  put,  dear  Lady  Adela,"  cooed 
Mr.  Welwyn.  "I  remember  — " 

What  Mr.  Welwyn  remembered  will  never  be 
known,  for  at  that  moment  the  door  opened, 
slowly  but  inexorably,  and  Grandma  Banks  ap- 
peared. She  advanced  into  the  room  with  a  few 
uncertain  and  tottering  steps,  peered  round  her, 
and  nodded  her  head  with  great  vigour. 

"I  thought  so,"  she  observed  triumphantly. 
"Company!  No  wonder  I  were  sent  to  bed." 

There  was  a  paralysed  silence.    Mr.  Welwyn 


UNREHEARSED  301 

was  the  first  to  recover  his  presence  of  mind.  He 
advanced  upon  his  infirm  but  irrepressible  rela- 
tive shaking  a  playful  finger. 

"This  is  very,  very  naughty,"  he  announced 
reproachfully.  "What  will  the  doctor  say?** 

"Eh?"  enquired  Grandma. 

:'You  were  told  to  stay  in  bed,  you  know, 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn,  coming  to  her  hus- 
band's assistance. 

"I  were  n't  never  told  no  such  thing  by  no- 
body," replied  the  old  lady  explicitly. 

Tilly,  avoiding  Sylvia's  eye,  decided  to  make 
the  best  of  the  situation. 

"Well,  now  you  are  here,  Granny,"  she  inter- 
posed brightly,  "you  must  come  and  sit  snugly 
by  the  fire  and  have  some  tea.  'Melia,  bring  that 
little  three-legged  table  and  put  it  by  Granny's 
chair,  and  bring  a  footstool." 

The  Welwyns,  swiftly  taking  their  cue  from 
Tilly,  bestirred  themselves  in  fulsome  despera- 
tion, and  in  a  few  minutes  Grandma  Banks,  a 
trifle  flustered  by  her  sudden  and  most  unusual 
popularity,  found  herself  tucked  into  her  arm- 
chair by  the  assiduous  efforts  of  the  entire  family. 

"This  is  my  grandmother,  Mrs.  Banks,"  said 
Tilly  to  Mr.  Mainwaring,  who  happened  to  be 
sitting  nearest. 

"I  trust,  Mrs.  Banks,"  began  Mr.  Mainwar- 
ing with  a  deferential, bow,  "that  you  are  not 


302  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

allowing  your  sense  of  hospitality  to  overtax  your 
strength." 

"Eh?"  enquired  Mrs.  Banks,  as  ever. 

"She  is  rather  deaf,"  explained  Tilly  in  an  un- 
dertone. "Don't  strain  your  voice  by  talking  to 
her  too  long." 

"The  gentleman,"  announced  Grandma  un- 
expectedly, "shall  talk  to  me  as  long  as  he 
likes." 

"Aha,  Tilly,  old  lady!  That's  one  for  you," 
cried  the  watchful  Percy,  and  the  Welwyn  fam- 
ily laughed,  hurriedly  and  tumultuously.  Grand- 
ma's octogenarian  heart  glowed.  Social  success 
had  come  to  her  at  last.  She  began  to  enjoy  her- 
self hugely.  Tilly  cast  an  anxious  glance  round 
her.  Grandma's  entrance  had  sensibly  lowered 
the  temperature  of  the  tea-party,  and  worse 
threatened.  Already  Lady  Adela  was  exhibiting 
a  tendency  to  edge  towards  the  fireplace.  It  was 
only  too  plain  that  she  contemplated  yet  another 
"cosy  chat."  Tilly  decided  to  fall  back  upon  the 
one  trustworthy  person  in  the  room. 

"Granny,"  she  said,  taking  Dicky  by  the  arm 
and  leading  him  forward,  "I  want  to  introduce 
Mr.  Dick  Mainwaring.  You  have  heard  of  him, 
have  n't  you?" 

Mrs.  Banks  surveyed  Dicky  over  her  spec- 
tacles. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Banks  with  deliberation, 


THIS    IS   VERY    NAUGHTY,       HE  ANNOUNCED 
REPROACHFULLY 


UNREHEARSED  303 

"I  'ave  'eard  of  you.  You  and  our  Tilly  are  walk- 
ing out." 

Dicky  assented  with  a  happy  laugh,  and 
dropped  into  the  only  chair  in  Grandma's  vicin- 
ity. Tilly  breathed  again:  Lady  Adela's  further 
advance  was  checked.  The  party  settled  down 
once  more,  and  talk  broke  out  afresh. 

Grandma  Banks,  whose  conversational  flights 
were  not  as  a  rule  encouraged  by  her  relatives, 
availed  herself  of  her  present  emancipation  to 
embark  upon  a  brief  homily  to  Dicky. 

"I  tells  you  this,  young  man,"  she  said  in  a 
hectoring  voice,  "you've  got  a  treasure  in  our 
Tilly.  Don't  you  forget  it." 

"I  made  that  discovery  for  myself  a  long  time 
ago,"  said  Dicky.  He  smiled  up  at  his  treasure, 
who  was  sitting  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

The  treasure's  grandmother,  having  in  the 
mean  time  been  supplied  with  refreshment  by 
Amelia,  took  a  piece  of  bread-and-butter  and 
rolled  it  up  into  a  convenient  cylinder, 
i  ;'Yes,"  she  continued,  dipping  the  end  of  the 
cylinder  into  her  tea,  "  she  takes  after  her  mother, 
does  Tilly.  She  may  get  some  of  her  looks  from 
her  father's  side,  but  when  it  comes  to  character, 
she's  a  Banks."  Her  aged  voice  rose  higher. 
"Always  been  respectable,  'as  the  Bankses,"  she 
announced  shrilly.  "Very  different  from  — " 

At  this  point  not  less  than  three  persons  en- 


304  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

quired  of  Lady  Adela  if  she  would  not  take  an- 
other cup  of  tea;  and  in  the  hospitable  melee 
which  ensued  Grandma's  further  utterances  were 
obscured. 

Percy  was  holding  Lady  Adela's  cup,  and  Tilly 
was  re-filling  it,  when  the  door  opened  and  Mr. 
Stillbottle  made  his  second  entrance.  As  before, 
he  came  to  a  halt  immediately  on  appearing,  and 
coughed  in  a  distressing  fashion  without  making 
any  attempt  to  deliver  his  lines. 

"There  is  that  quaint  old  retainer  of  yours 
again,  Tilly,"  said  Sylvia. 

Tilly  turned  quickly. 

"Well,  Russell?"  she  asked. 

Mr.  Stillbottle,  ignoring  her  entirely,  addressed 
himself  to  the  master  of  the  house. 

"A  message  has  came  through  on  the  telephone, 
sir,"  he  chanted,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  an  imagin- 
ary prompt-book  on  the  opposite  wall,  "askin'  for 
you  to  be  so  kind  as  to  attend  a  meetin'  of  the 
Club  C'mittee  at  three  o'clock  on  Toosday  next." 

"I  think  I  am  engaged,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn, 
with  an  anxious  glance  in  the  direction  of  his 
mother-in-law  (who  was  fortunately  busily  occu- 
pied in  masticating  a  cylinder);  "but  say  I  will 
let  them  know." 

"Right,"  said  Mr.  Stillbottle,  and  departed. 

The  Welwyns,  who  during  the  time  occupied 
by  their  butler's  second  "turn,"  had  been  in- 


UNREHEARSED  305 

clining  uneasy  ears  in  the  direction  of  the  open 
doorway,  surveyed  one  another  in  a  frightened 
fashion.  All  was  not  well  on  the  second  floor: 
evidence  to  that  effect  was  plainly  audible. 

"Great  bore,  these  committee  meetings,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Welwyn.  "I  expect  you  have  your 
fill  of  them,  Mainwaring." 

"Alas,  yes!"  said  Mr.  Mainwaring.  "They 
are  all  the  same.  Everybody  sits  and  looks  por- 
tentously solemn  — " 

"All  sorts  of  non-controversial  business  is 
brought  forward  as  a  matter  of  pressing  impor- 
tance —  " 

"Everybody  disagrees  with  everybody  else — " 

"  And  ultimately  everything  is  left  to  the  Sec- 
retary, who  arranges  matters  quite  satisfactorily 
without  any  assistance  whatsoever!" 

The  two  elderly  gentlemen  laughed  happily 
at  their  own  spirited  little  dialogue,  and  Mr. 
Welwyn  rose  to  lay  down  his  cup.  It  was  a  tacti- 
cal blunder  of  capital  magnitude.  Lady  Adela, 
left  momentarily  unguarded,  immediately  slipped 
her  moorings,  rose  to  her  feet,  and  sailed  with 
great  stateliness  in  the  direction  of  the  fireplace. 

"I  am  going  to  have  a  chat  with  your  dear 
mother,"  she  observed  graciously  to  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn in  passing.  "Dick  dear,  let  me  have  your 
chair." 

Dicky,  feeling  that  it  was  not  for  him  to  par- 


306  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

ticipate  in  a  battle  of  giants,  obeyed,  and  Lady 
Adela  sank  down  opposite  Grandma  Banks. 
Simultaneously  sounds  of  further  disturbances 
penetrated  from  the  regions  above,  and  a  small 
lump  of  plaster  fell  from  the  ceiling.  Grandma, 
still  intent  upon  a  hearty  and  unwholesome 
tea,  made  no  acknowledgment  of  Lady  Adela's 
presence  until  Mrs.  Welwyn  effected  an  intro- 
duction. 

"Mother,"  she  explained,  "this  is  Lady  Adela, 
Mr.  Dick's  mother." 

Mrs.  Banks  nodded  curtly. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Banks,"  inti- 
mated Lady  Adela  in  the  voice  of  one  who  medi- 
tates producing  soup-tickets  later  on,  "to  make 
this  special  effort  on  our  behalf.  I  hope  we  are 
not  too  much  for  you." 

The  relict  of  the  departed  Banks  poured  some 
tea  from  her  cup  into  her  saucer,  took  a  hearty 
and  sibilant  sip,  and  replied :  — 

r  Very  few  folks  'as  ever  bin  too  much  for  me. 
I  'ear  as  'ow  you  have  come  on  business." 

"  We  told  her,"  Mrs.  Welwyn  explained  to  Lady 
Adela,  who  was  watching  Grandma's  perform- 
ance with  the  saucer  with  hypnotic  fascination, 
"  that  you  and  Mr.  Mainwaring  were  coming  to- 
day to  have  a  talk  about  Tilly  and  Mr.  Dick. 
That  is  what  she  meant  by  business,  I  expect." 

But  the  explanation  fell  on  inattentive  ears. 


UNREHEARSED  307 

Lady  Adela's  gaze  had  now  risen  from  the  saucer 
to  the  ceiling,  which  was  vibrating  madly,  appar- 
ently under  the  repeated  impact  of  one  or  more 
heavy  bodies.  The  rest  of  the  company  had  given 
up  all  pretence  at  conversation  some  time  ago. 

It  was  Dicky  who  supplied  a  line  of  explana- 
tion. 

"Mrs.  Welwyn,"  he  said  gravely,  "your  paper- 
hangers  seem  to  be  skylarking  a  little  bit  — 
what?" 

"That's  it,"  agreed  Mrs.  Welwyn,  transpar- 
ently grateful.  "But  what  can  one  do?"  she 
continued,  speaking  with  pathetic  solicitude 
in  Lady  Adela's  direction.  "You  know  what 
paperhangers  are!" 

"A  playful  race!  A  playful  race!"  cooed  Mr. 
Welwyn  helpfully. 

There  was  another  heavy  bump  overhead. 
The  prism-decked  chandelier  rattled,  and  the 
ceiling  shed  another  regretful  flake. 

"Sounds  as  if  some  one  had  tried  to  walk  up 
the  wall  and  failed,"  observed  Percy,  with  that 
courageous  facetiousness  which  comes  proverbi- 
ally to  Britons  at  moments  of  great  peril. 

"How  exasperating  it  must  be  for  you  all, 
Tilly,"  said  Sylvia  sympathetically.  "I  wonder 
you  don't  go  and  live  somewhere  else  while  it  is 
going  on." 

Tilly,  whose  powers  of  endurance  were  fast 


308  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

coming  to  an  end,  made  no  reply.  Kindly  Mr. 
Mainwaring  bridged  the  gulf  of  silence. 

"It  is  extraordinary,"  he  began  chattily  to  the 
company  at  large,  "how  completely  one  is  at 
the  mercy  of  the  British  workman.  Once  you 
get  him  into  your  house  he  sticks.  I  suppose  the 
title  of  arch-limpet  must  be  awarded  to  the 
plumber;  but  I  should  think  the  paperhanger  - 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  querulous  but  ar- 
resting voice  of  Grandma  Banks. 

"What's  that?"  she  enquired  with  ominous 
distinctness,  "about  plumbers?" 

"I  was  awarding  the  palm  for  general  iniquity, 
dear  Mrs.  Banks,"  explained  Mr.  Mainwaring 
smilingly,  "to  the  plumbing  fraternity.  Plum- 
bers—" 

Mrs.  Welwyn  made  a  hasty  movement,  but  it 
was  too  late.  Grandma's  bowed  and  shrivelled 
form  suddenly  swelled  and  stiffened. 

"Ho,  was  you?"  she  enquired  with  rising  in- 
dignation. "Then  let  me  tell  you  that  my  late 
'usband,  Mr.  Josiah  Banks,  what  was  very  'ighly 
respected  in  'Itchin — " 

Tilly  dropped  two  teaspoons  despairingly,  and 
there  was  another  and  more  timely  bump  over- 
head. 

"Percy  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Welwyn  hast- 
ily, "  don't  you  think  you  had  better  run  up  and 
see  what  those  wretches  are  doing?" 


UNREHEARSED  309 

"Righto,  Mother,"  said  Percy,  rising  with 
alacrity. 

"My  late  'usband — "  resumed  Mrs.  Banks, 
crescendo. 

"It  certainly  is  an  extraordinary  noise/'  re- 
marked Mr.  Welwyn  loudly.  "They  appear  to 
be  on  the  staircase  now." 

"Sliding  down  the  banisters,  no  doubt,"  said 
Dicky.  "  Playful  little  fellows !  Shall  I  come  with 
you,  Percy?" 

Percy  Welwyn  paused,  a  little  embarrassed, 
i    "Don't  trouble,"  he  said.     "You  see  — " 

He  paused  again  —  fatally. 

"My  late  'usband,"  proclaimed  Grandma 
Banks  on  the  top  note  of  her  register,  "was  a 
plumber  'imself." 

Next  moment  the  double  doors  burst  open, 
and  Mr.  Mehta  Ram,  frantic  with  terror,  hurled 
himself  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   REAL   TILLY 

MR.  MEHTA  RAM  promptly  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Mr.  Welwyn,  and  attempted,  in  true  Old  Tes- 
tament fashion,  to  embrace  that  embarrassed 
scholar  and  gentleman  by  the  knees. 

"  Keep  him  out ! "  he  shrieked.  "  Great  snakes, 
I  implore  you !  Lock  the  door ! " 

In  the  absence  of  the  snakes  this  office  was 
performed  by  Percy  and  Dicky.  Directly  after- 
wards there  was  a  rush  of  feet  down  the  stair- 
case, and  a  fusilade  of  blows  began  to  rain  upon 
the  panels. 

"Open  the  door!"  commanded  a  voice,  in  a 
frenzied  Paisley  accent.  "I'm  wanting  in! 
Tae  break  his  neck,"  it  added  in  explanation. 

Dicky  and  Percy  promptly  put  their  backs 
against  the  door.  Mrs.  Welwyn  crossed  hastily 
to  her  husband's  side. 

"It's  that  Pumpherston,"  she  announced  in 
a  low  voice.  "What  are  we  to  do?" 

Mr.  Welwyn  addressed  the  suppliant  at  his 
feet. 

"Come,  Mr.  Mehta  Ram,"  he  said,  "don't 
be  frightened.  He  can't  get  in.  What  is  the 
trouble?" 


THE  REAL  TILLY  311 

Mr.  Mehta  Ram  lifted  his  face  from  Mr. 
Welwyn's  boots  and  addressed  the  company  at 
large. 

"Mr.  Welwyn,  Mrs.  Welwyn,  and  general 
public,*'  he  began  —  the  latter  designation  was 
apparently  intended  for  the  Mainwaring  family, 
who,  with  the  exception  of  Dicky,  had  ranged 
themselves  into  a  compact  group  on  the  further 
side  of  the  room  —  "I  appeal  to  you  as  British 
subject  —  as  a  member  of  that  great  Empire 
upon  which  the  sun  never  sits  — " 

"Sets,  old  comrade!"  corrected  Dicky  from 
the  door. 

"Shed  your  tears!"  commanded  Mr.  Ram, 
disregarding  the  interruption.  "Give  us  a  look 
in!  I  am  in  jeopardy  —  in  a  damtight  place! 
My  adversary  knocks  upon  the  door  —  the 
avenging  Pumpherston !  He  arraigns  me  of  petty 
larceny.  He  accuses  me  that  I  have  confiscated 
his  table.  But  I  am  innocent!  I  make  my  de- 
fence !  I  throw  myself  —  Ah-a-a-a-a-h !  Help ! " 

The  other  door  —  that  leading  into  Mr.  Wel- 
wyn's bedroom,  which  itself  communicated  with 
the  landing  outside  —  burst  open,  and  a  small, 
red-whiskered,  and  intensely  ferocious  gentleman 
bounded  in.  It  was  the  avenging  Pumpherston. 

Mr.  Ram  bolted  across  the  room  like  an  obese 
rabbit,  and  took  refuge  behind  the  hostile  but 
protective  form  of  Lady  Adela. 


312  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

The  avenger  paused,  obviously  nonplussed 
by  the  size  of  the  assembly. 

"I  beg  your  paurdon,"  he  said  awkwardly. 
"I  wis  not  aware  — " 

He  turned,  to  find  Percy  and  Dicky  standing 
beside  him,  one  at  each  shoulder. 

"We  were  half  expecting  you,  Mr.  Pumpher- 
ston,"  said  Dicky,  with  a  friendly  smile.  "But 
if  you  and  this  gentleman  are  playing  hide-and- 
seek,  the  den  is  upstairs." 

"I  beg  your  paurdon,"  repeated  Mr.  Pum- 
pherston,  whose  bellicosity  was  fast  evaporating, 
"but  yon  fat  heathen  has  robbed  me.  He  has 
lifted  a  piece  of  furniture  —  Heh !  Let  me  get 
at  him!" 

With  a  convulsive  bound  he  wrenched  himself 
free  from  his  interlocutors  and  made  a  dash  for 
the  door.  But  he  was  too  late.  Mr.  Mehta 
Ram,  keeping  under  the  lee  of  Lady  Adela  and 
the  furniture,  had  made  use  of  the  brief  respite 
afforded  by  the  recital  of  his  assailant's  griev- 
ances to  effect  an  unostentatious  departure,  and 
was  now  halfway  up  the  staircase  again.  The 
baffled  Pumpherston  followed  him  with  a  long- 
drawn  howl. 

"Come  on,  Percy!"  said  Dicky. 

The  pair  raced  out  in  pursuit,  banging  the 
door  behind  them.  Presently  from  abovestairs 
came  the  sound  of  renewed  conflict;  a  few 


THE  REAL  TILLY  313 

dull  thuds   and  muffled   crashes;  and  then  — 
silence. 

Lady  Adela  rose  to  her  feet  in  awful  majesty, 
and  addressed  the  stunned  and  demoralised 
remnants  of  the  tea-party. 

"Is  this  a  private  asylum,"  she  enquired  in 
trumpet  tones,  "or  is  it  not?" 

Grandma  Banks  was  the  only  member  of  her 
audience  who  replied. 

"My  late  'usband,"  she  whimpered  —  "my 
late  'usband,  Mr.  Josiah  Banks!  Greatly  re- 
spected in  'Itchin  —  greatly  respec — " 

Tears  coursed  slowly  down  her  furrowed 
cheeks. 

In  a  moment  Tilly  was  kneeling  beside  her, 
with  her  arms  round  the  frail  old  body,  whis- 
pering gently  and  caressingly  into  her  ear. 
There  was  a  long  silence,  and  Sylvia  began  to 
pull  on  her  gloves. 

"I  think  we  had  better  be  going,"  said  Lady 
Adela. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  helplessly. 

But  Lucius  Welwyn  made  a  last  effort.  All 
seemed  lost,  yet  his  inherent  polish  and  savoir 
Jaire  rebelled  against  such  an  inglorious  and 
ignominious  end  as  this. 

"I  must  apologise  most  sincerely  for  this 
contretemps,  Lady  Adela,"  he  said  with  a  ready 


314  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

smile.  "Those  fellows  are  two  disciples  of  mine. 
Law  students  —  British  Museum  —  and  so  on. 
They  come  here  periodically  to  receive  instruc- 
tion from  me  in  my  library  upstairs"  —  Lady 
Adela  looked  up  and  regarded  him  steadily,  but 
he  continued  with  perfect  coolness  —  "but  I 
fear  that  on  this  occasion  racial  animosity  has 
proved  stronger  than  academic  unity  of  purpose. 
You  will  understand,  I  am  sure." 

"Perfectly,"  replied  Lady  Adela.  "Come, 
Sylvia." 

Sylvia  was  quite  ready,  but  at  this  moment  the 
door  flew  open  once  more,  and  Dicky  and  Percy 
reappeared,  flushed,  panting,  but  triumphant. 

"It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Welwyn,"  announced 
Dicky  reassuringly.  "The  brunette  gentleman 
has  bolted  himself  into  the  bathroom,  and  we 
have  locked  up  the  blonde  in  a  broom-cupboard. 
Hallo,  Mum  —  going?" 

"Yes.     Come,  Sylvia." 

"Certainly,  Mother,"  said  Sylvia. 

Dicky's  ear  caught  the  danger-note  in  his 
sister's  voice.  He  stood  transfixed,  with  dismay 
written  across  his  frank  but  heated  features. 

"I  say,"  he  stammered.  "Mum —  Sylvia — • 
what  does  all  this  mean?" 

"Good-bye,  Mrs.  Welwyn,"  said  Lady  Adela 
calmly.  "Thank  you  for  —  ah  —  entertaining 
us.  I  suppose  one  can  get  a  cab  here?" 


THE  REAL  TILLY  315 

She  shook  Mrs.  Welwyn's  nerveless  hand  and 
turned  to  Mr.  Mainwaring,  who  stood  awk- 
wardly smoothing  his  hat. 

"Are  you  ready,  Abel?"  she  enquired. 

Suddenly  Tilly  Welwyn  rose  from  her  knees 
by  her  grandmother's  side,  and,  to  employ  a 
dramatic  expression,  took  the  centre  of  the  stage. 
She  stood  face  to  face  with  her  departing  guests, 
her  head  thrown  back  and  her  hands  clenched  — 
a  very  slim,  very  upright,  very  dignified  little 
figure. 

"Sit  down,  please,  everybody,  if  you  will  be 
so  kind,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  shan't  keep  you 
long." 

Lady  Adela,  looking  like  a  boa-constrictor 
which  has  been  challenged  to  mortal  combat  by 
a  small  and  inexperienced  chicken,  stood  stock- 
still,  with  her  head  oscillating  from  side  to  side 
in  a  slightly  uncertain  fashion.  Then,  recover- 
ing herself,  she  fell  back  in  good  order  upon  her 
supporters. 

The  Welwyns,  closing  loyally  upon  their  small 
champion,  spoke  in  anxious  undertones. 

"Don't  chuck  up  the  sponge,  Sis,"  whispered 
Percy  encouragingly.  "We'll  pull  you  through." 

"Don't  lose  your  head,  my  child,"  counselled 
her  father.  "You  may  make  things  worse." 

"Tilly,  dearie,  can  you  ever  forgive  me?"  was 
all  Mrs.  Welwyn  said.  She  forgot,  in  her  selfless 


316  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

grief  for  the  destruction  of  her  daughter's  castle- 
in-the-air,  that  she  herself  had  predicted  its  fall. 

Little  'Melia  said  nothing,  but  passionately 
squeezed  her  sister's  hand. 

"  You  are  all  dears,"  said  Tilly  in  a  clear  voice, 
"and  I  love  you  for  the  way  you  have  stood  by 
me  to-day;  but  I  want  to  speak  to  the  others  just 
now." 

She  took  a  step  forward  towards  the  Mainwar- 
ings,  who  were  grouped  beside  the  tea-table. 
But  before  she  could  speak,  Dicky,  who  had  been 
hovering  silently  on  the  outer  wing  of  his  own 
party,  crossed  the  floor  and  joined  her. 

"I '11  come  and  stand  over  here,  Tilly,"  he  said, 
"if  you  don't  mind.  There's  a  nasty  draught  in 
that  corner." 

Tilly  smiled  faintly. 

"I  would  rather  you  did  n't,"  she  said,  with 
the  suspicion  of  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  "Please 
go  over  there." 

Dicky  responded  by  standing-at-ease,  military 
fashion. 

"  Carry  on,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Please,  Dicky!"  urged  Tilly,  "It  only  makes 
it  harder  for  me." 

Dicky  glanced  at  her  white  face,  and  retired 
one  pace  backward. 

"That  is  my  limit,"  he  said. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Adela  had  come  to  the  con- 


THE  REAL  TILLY  317 

elusion  that  all  this  was  very  emotional  and  un- 
dignified. 

i    "  Miss  Welwyn,"  she  enquired, "  what  does  this 
mean?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Tilly.  "But  first  of  all 
I  must  say  one  thing.  I  did  not  try  to  trap  your 
son,  as  you  seem  to  think.  We  fell  —  we  came  to 
care  for  one  another  quite  naturally.  I  made  no 
attempt  to  catch  him.  I  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  him.  It  —  it  just  happened."  She  turned 
wistfully  to  Dicky.  "Did  n't  it?"  she  asked. 

Dicky  nodded  his  head  gravely. 

"It  just  happened,"  he  said. 

"And  since  we  cared  for  one  another  —  or 
thought  we  did"  —  continued  Tilly  with  a  little 
choke,  "it  never  came  into  my  head  that  any- 
thing else  could  matter.  But  last  Saturday,  when 
I  went  to  stay  at  your  house,  and  saw  your  grand 
ways  and  your  grand  servants,  and  all  the  com- 
motion you  made  about  Members  of  Parliament, 
and  county  families,  and  all  that  —  well,  I  began 
to  see  rocks  ahead.  I  felt  common.  My  courage 
began  to  fail.  I  began  to  be  afraid  that  you  would 
not  take  kindly  to  the  Family  — " 

"It  was  n't  you  that  was  afraid,  dearie,"  said  a 
respectful  voice  behind  her.  "  It  was  the  Family." 

"I  saw,  too,  Lady  Adela,"  continued  Tilly, 
"that  you  were  against  me  —  dead  against  me  — 
and  that  as  soon  as  you  got  hold  of  a  decent- 


318  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

excuse  I  should  be  bundled  out  of  your  son's  life, 
like  —  like  an  entanglement.  That  put  my  back 
up.  I  had  meant  to  be  perfectly  straight  and 
unpretentious  with  you,  but  when  I  saw  what 
you  were  after,  I  determined  to  fight.  So  I  have 
deceived  you." 

"We  all  have,"  murmured  a  loyal  chorus. 

"You  have  been  done!"  proclaimed  Tilly  de- 
fiantly. She  was  fast  losing  control  of  herself. 
She  felt  dimly  that  she  was  behaving  in  an  hyster- 
ical and  theatrical  manner;  but  when  one's  world 
is  tumbling  about  one's  ears,  one  may  be  excused 
for  stating  the  truth  rather  more  explicitly  than 
is  usual.  "Yes  —  done!"  she  repeated.  "I  will 
tell  you  just  exactly  who  we  are  and  what  we  are. 
Father  is  a  gentleman,  right  enough"  —  her 
voice  rang  out  proudly  —  "as  well-born  a  gentle- 
man as  any  of  the  land;  but  he  has  followed  no 
regular  profession  for  twenty  years,  and  he  lives 
on  Mother.  Mother  keeps  lodgings.  This  house 
is  a  lodging-house,  and  those  two  men  you  saw 
were  lodgers.  Percy  works  in  a  wholesale  haber- 
dasher's in  Holborn.  I  do  a  little  dress-designing. 
'Melia  helps  Mother  with  the  lodgers.  So  you  see 
you  have  been  imposed  on:  we  work  for  a  liv- 
ing! But  you  must  n't  blame  the  Family  for  what 
has  happened.  It  was  my  idea  from  start  to  fin- 
ish :  the  Family  only  backed  me  up.  And  they  did 
back  me  up!  No  girl  ever  had  such  a  splendid 


THE  REAL  TILLY  319 

father  or  mother,  or  brother  or  sister."  Tilly 
stepped  back  into  the  heart  of  her  bodyguard, 
feeling  for  friendly  hands.  " I  'm  proud  of  them," 
she  cried  passionately,  "proud  to  belong  to  them! 
I'm  proud  that  my  name  is  Tilly  Welwyn,  and 
I  never  wish  to  change  it  for  any  other.  We 
Welwyns  may  be  nobodies  but  we  stick  together. 
There!  You  may  go  now." 

The  drawing-room  door  creaked  and  opened, 
but  no  one  noticed. 

"I  have  told  you  everything,  I  think,"  said 
Tilly,  more  calmly.  "I  know  now  that  I  should 
have  told  you  in  any  case.  That's  all.  .  .  .  No, 
it's  not." 

She  swung  round  towards  the  doorway,  and 
pointed  to  the  grotesque  figure  of  that  earnest 
student  of  the  drama,  Samuel  Stillbottle,  who 
was  myopically  deciphering  a  small  but  tattered 
document,  all  but  concealed  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand. 

"We're  paupers!"  she  cried.  "We're  in  debt! 
We're  broke!  There's  a  distraint  on  the  fur- 
niture; and  that  creature" — Mr.  Stillbottle, 
hazily  conscious  that  a  cue  was  coming,  furtively 
thrust  his  manuscript  into  his  waistcoat  pocket 

"  that  creature  is  a  broker 's  man !  Oh,  Mother, 
Mother,  Mother!" 

In  an  instant  Martha  Welwyn's  arms  closed 
round  her  daughter. 


320  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"There,  there!"  she  crooned.  "My  lamb,  my 
pretty,  my  precious,  my  dearie  — don't  you  cry ! " 

There  was  a  deathlike  stillness,  broken  only  by 
Tilly's  sobs.  The  Mainwarings  stood  like  statues. 
Mr.  Welwyn  sat  on  the  sofa,  his  head  bowed  be- 
tween his  hands.  Grandma  Banks  slumbered 
peacefully.  The  bewildered  but  conscientious 
Stillbottle  seized  his  opportunity,  and  cleared  his 
throat. 

"The  shover,  sir,"  he  announced  huskily,  "is 
below,  a-waitin'  for — " 

Next  moment  a  hand  like  a  vice  closed  upon 
the  herald's  collar,  and  Dicky  Mainwaring's  voice 
remarked  concisely  into  his  ear :  — 

"Go  to  the  devil." 

Mr.  Stillbottle,  utterly  dazed,  raised  his  head 
and  surveyed  the  company.  Then  he  smiled 
apologetically. 

"Wrong  entrance,"  he  observed.  "My  error! 
Exit  hastily!" 

He  turned,  and  shuffled  out. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   REAL  MR.    WELWYN 

'*  There  is  an  evenin*  paper  — " 

quavered  Mr.  Stillbottle  blithely,  with  his  feet 
upon  the  kitchen  hob,  — 

—  "which  is  published  in  the  momin'l 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  twinkle,  little  Star  I" 

He  unfolded  the  early  edition  of  the  organ  in 
question  and  devoted  himself  to  a  laboured  pe- 
rusal of  the  list  of  probable  starters  for  the  Lin- 
colnshire Handicap,now  looming  in  the  immediate 
future;  for  he  was  anxious  to  ascertain  whether 
his  premonitions  as  to  the  identity  of  the  winner 
coincided  with  those  of  the  prophet  retained  by 
the  management.  Apparently  they  did ;  for  pres- 
ently the  paper  was  laid  aside  with  a  contented 
sigh,  and  the  student  of  form  resumed  the  hoary 
lay  which  anxiety  connected  with  the  investment 
of  his  newly  acquired  capital  had  caused  him 
momentarily  to  abandon. 

"  Twinkle,  Star! 
Tiddley  Wink  I 

Twinkle  on  till  you  dunno  where  you  are  I 
Oh,  we  'II  make  things  warm  for  'Arcourt, 
If  'e  ever  comes  down  our  court  I 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  twinkle,  little  St — " 


HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Conscious  of  a  draught  upon  the  back  of  his 
neck,  the  vocalist  turned  uneasily  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  door.  It  had  opened  some  six  inches, 
revealing  to  view  a  pair  of  cherubic  heads,  set 
one  above  the  other.  Each  head  was  furnished 
with  a  pair  of  quite  circular  blue  eyes,  which  sur- 
veyed Mr.  Stillbottle,  with  unwinking  and  un- 
nerving ecstasy. 

"The  Funny  Man!"  proclaimed  The  Cure 
joyously. 

"  Yesh,"  agreed  The  Caution.  "Lesh  box  him." 

The  pair  entered  the  room  hand  in  hand,  and 
advanced  grimly  to  the  attack. 

Mr.  Stillbottle  hastily  removed  his  feet  from 
the  hob. 

"You  two,"  he  announced,  "can  get  on  out 
of  this.  I  ain't  never  done  you  no  'arm,  'ave  I?  " 
he  added  appealingly;  "so  why  - — " 

At  this  point  The  Caution  dealt  him  a  playful 
but  disabling  blow  in  the  waistcoat.  The  Cure, 
with  a  shriek  of  rapture,  seized  Mr.  Stillbottle's 
frayed  coat  by  the  tails  and  whirled  its  owner 
round  three  times  upon  his  axis. 

"Now  catch  me!"  she  shrieked. 

"If  I  do  — "  gasped  Mr.  Stillbottle,  clutching 
dizzily  at  the  mantelpiece.  Further  words  failed 
him,  and  entrenching  himself  behind  a  table,  he 
waited  like  a  hunted  animal  for  the  further  as- 
saults of  his  enemies. 


THE  REAL  MR.   WELWYN        323 

He  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense.  Having 
armed  themselves  with  the  fire-irons,  the  two 
affectionate  but  boisterous  infants  were  upon  the 
point  of  inaugurating  a  game  of  what  they  called 
"  beat-the-carpet " —  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 
specify  the  role  assigned  to  Mr.  Stillbottle  — 
when  the  door  opened,  revealing  the  welcome 
figure  of  Dicky  Mainwaring. 

Straightway  weapons  were  thrown  down,  and 
the  newcomer  found  himself  the  centre  of  a  cloud 
of  embraces.  Dicky  was  a  prime  favourite  with 
•children  and  dogs  —  no  bad  test  of  character, 
either. 

Presently,  having  shaken  himself  free  from 
the  unmaidenly  caresses  of  the  youngest  Miss 
Welwyn,  Dicky  became  aware  of  the  pathetic 
presence  of  Mr.  Stillbottle. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Russell,"  he  said.  "You 
are  just  the  man  I  want  to  see." 

"You  can  see  me  as  often  and  as  long  as  you 
like,  sir,"  replied  the  afflicted  Russell  fervently, 
"if  only  you'll  put  those  two  imps  on  the  other 
side  of  that  door." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Dicky.  "  Now  you  two,  ske- 
daddle!" 

To  the  amazement  and  admiration  of  their 
late  victim  the  two  freebooters  departed  imme- 
diately, merely  pausing  to  receive  a  valedictory 
salute  from  their  evictor.  Dicky  closed  the  door 


324  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

upon  them,  and  motioning  the  broker's  man  to 
a  chair,  enquired :  — 

"Where  is  everybody  this  morning,  Mr. 
Russell?" 

"My  name,  in  mufti,  to  my  friends,"  replied 
the  grateful  Russell,  "is  Stillbottle.  But  you  was 
asking  about  *  everybody.'  Meanin'  the  Barce- 
lona Troupe  of  Performing  Nuts?" 

Dicky  nodded. 

"Upstairs,  most  of  'em,"  said  Stillbottle. 
"All  but  your  little  bit.  She  'as  gone  out." 

Dicky  looked  up  sharply. 

"For  long?  "he  asked. 

"I  could  n't  say,"  replied  the  broker's  man. 
"Percehas  gone  to  the  City.  Mother  and  the 
little  'un  are  a-makin'  of  the  beds.  The  Princi- 
pal Filbert  is  still  between  the  sheets.  I'm  the 
only  member  of  the  cast  visible  at  present.  But 
as  you  say  it 's  me  you  came  to  see,  perhaps  you  '11 
kindly  state  your  business. 

Dicky  did  so. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  ascended  to  the 
drawing-room,  restored  to  its  usual  aspect  of 
dingy  propriety  after  yesterday's  junketings.  He 
noticed  that  his  carnations  had  disappeared. 

Mr.  Welwyn  was  just  entering  from  his  bed- 
room. At  the  sight  of  Dicky  he  started,  but  re- 
covering himself  with  his  usual  readiness,  shook 
hands. 


THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN       325 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Mainwaring,"  he  said. 
"Be  seated.'* 

Dicky  complied.  "You  seem  surprised  to  see 
me,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Frankly,"  replied  Mr.  Welwyn,  "I  am.  After 
our  treatment  of  you  yesterday  I  hardly  expected 
you  to  return.  I  can  only  extenuate  our  perform- 
ance by  assuring  you  that  what  looked  like  a  care- 
fully graduated  series  of  insults  was  nothing  more 
than  the  logical,  if  unforeseen,  development  of 
a  somewhat  childish  attempt  upon  our  part  to  de- 
lude your  family  into  the  impression  that  our 
circumstances  were  not  so  straitened  as,  in  point 
of  fact,  they  are.  We  meant  well,  but  —  " 

Mr.  Welwyn  concluded  this  explanation  with 
a  rather  helpless  gesture.  It  was  an  awkward 
and  difficult  moment.  With  all  his  faults  he  was 
a  man  of  feeling,  with  a  gentleman's  inherent 
distaste  for  anything  savouring  of  sharp  prac- 
tice; and  he  knew  that  the  boy  before  him  felt 
the  situation  as  acutely  as  himself.  There  are 
few  sadder  sights  than  that  of  an  old  man  eating 
humble  pie  to  a  young  man. 

But  Dicky,  The  Freak,  was  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion. He  answered  gravely:  — 

"The  point  of  view  which  I  prefer  to  take, 
Mr.  Welwyn,  is  this  —  that  you  were  all  trying 
to  do  a  good  turn  to  Tilly." 

"Thank  you,  Dick,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn  simply. 


326  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"  Still,  there  was  a  second  reason  which  I  thought 
might  perhaps  keep  you  away." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Well  —  the  presence  in  one's  abode  of  a 
sheriff's  officer  is  apt  to  exercise  a  dispersive 
influence  upon  one's  calling  acquaintance." 

"On  this  occasion,  however,"  replied  Dicky 
serenely,  "you  will  find  that  a  calling  acquaint- 
ance has  dispersed  the  sheriff's  officer." 

Mr.  Welwyn,  who  had  been  perambulating 
the  room,  stopped  dead. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  exclaimed, 
"that  the  fellow  is  gone?" 

Dicky  nodded.   "Five  minutes  ago,"  he  said. 

"But  —  I  don't  understand,"  muttered  the 
elder  man.  "Did  you  kick  him  out?  If  so,  the  fat 
is  in  the  fire  with  a  — " 

"He  left  this  behind  him,"  interposed  Dicky 
awkwardly.  "Under  the  circumstances  —  I  took 
the  liberty." 

Mr.  Welwyn  gazed  long  and  silently  at  the 
stamped  document  which  lay  beneath  his  eyes. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  Dicky  and  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  shake  hands;  then  drew  back  and 
bowed,  not  without  dignity. 

"Mr.  Mainwaring,"  he  said,  "I  thank  you.  I 
•will  leave  it  at  that.  If  I  possessed  a  less  intimate 
knowledge  of  my  own  character,  I  should  hasten 
to  give  utterance  to  the  sentiment  which  at  this 


THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN       327 

moment  dominates  my  mind  —  namely,  a  sin- 
cere determination  never  to  rest  until  I  have 
repaid  you  this  sum.  But  I  have  not  arrived  at 
my  present  estate  without  learning  that  any  such 
impulse  on  my  part  would  be  entirely  transi- 
tory. From  the  age  of  five  I  can  never  recollect 
having  formed  a  single  resolution  that  I  was  able 
to  keep.  I  therefore  accept  your  very  generous 
aid  without  protest  or  false  pride.  My  wife,  of 
course,  would  not  approve.  She  comes  of  a  class 
whose  sole  criterion  of  respectability  is  a  labori- 
ous solvency  during  life  and  an  expensive  funeral 
after  death.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  belittling 
her.  She  is  the  one  sound  investment  I  ever  made. 
I  need  not  trouble  you  with  the  facts  of  our  court- 
ship and  marriage;  but  I  will  tell  you  this,  my 
boy,  that  if  a  man  had  real  cause  to  be  grateful 
for  and  proud  of  his  wife,  that  man  is  Lucius 
Welwyn.  And  the  extraordinary  part  of  it  all  is 
that  she  is  proud  of  me  —  me  I  Instead  of  acting 
like  a  sensible  woman  and  deploring  me  as  a  com- 
mercial and  domestic  liability,  she  persists  in 
exalting  me  into  a  social  asset  of  the  first  water. 
I  do  not  attempt  to  dispel  these  illusions  of  hers. 
In  a  woman's  hands  an  illusion,  after  she  has 
fashioned  it  to  the  shape  that  pleases  her,  hard- 
ens into  a  solid,  enduring,  and  comforting  fact. 
Perhaps,  then,  things  are  best  as  they  are.  But 
I  cherish  no  illusions  about  myself.  I  know  my 


328  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

limits.  I  am  a  considerate  husband  and  an  af- 
fectionate father.  My  temper,  except  at  times  of 
the  severest  domestic  stringency,  is  irreproach- 
able; and  I  find  myself  generally  regarded  as 
good  company  by  my  friends.  But  I  am  not  a 
worldly  success.  I  take  life  too  easily,  perhaps. 
I  allow  others  to  step  over  my  head.  I  am  too 
ready  to  stand  by  and  watch  the  passing  show, 
rather  than  plunge  in  and  take  my  part." 

The  speaker  paused,  and  for  a  moment  his 
glance  rested  upon  the  honest,  rather  puzzled, 
but  deeply  interested  eyes  of  the  young  man  upon 
the  sofa.  Suddenly  an  exposition  of  candour 
came  upon  Mr.  Welwyn. 

"There  was  a  time,"  he  said  in  a  less  buoyant 
tone,  "when  these  propensities  of  mine  used  to 
distress  me.  The  day  I  was  deprived  of  my 
Fellowship,  for  instance  —  " 

His  voice  shook  suddenly. 

"Don't  tell  me  about  it,  sir,  if  you  would 
rather  not,"  said  Dicky  quietly. 

"  For  drunkenness,  Mr.  Mainwaring  —  for 
drunkenness!"  burst  out  Mr.  Welwyn.  "Not  for 
chronic,  sordid  soaking  —  that  has  never  been 
a  foible  of  mine  —  but  for  characteristic  inability 
to  do  things  in  their  right  order.  Take  warning 
by  me,  Dick,  and  never  put  the  cart  before  the 
horse.  I  had  been  invited  to  lecture  to  a  very 
learned  body  upon  a  very  special  occasion.  A  sue- 


THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN        329 

cessful  appearance  would  have  gained  me  my  F.  R. 
S.  The  natural  and  proper  course  for  me  to  pursue 
was  to  deliver  the  lecture  first  and  treat  myself 
to  a  magnum  of  champagne  afterwards.  What  I 
actually  did  was  to  treat  myself  to  the  magnum 
of  champagne  and  then  deliver  the  lecture.  I 
may  say  with  all  modesty  that  that  lecture  caused 
a  profound  sensation.  It  is  still  quoted  —  but  not 
in  textbooks;  and  it  ended  my  University  career. 
My  life  since  has  been  a  series  of  similar  incidents 
—  disaster  arising  from  my  inherent  inability 
to  distinguish  between  the  time  to  be  merry  and 
the  time  to  sing  psalms.  Still,  I  keep  on  smiling. 
Fortune  has  not  touched  me  for  many  years  now. 
Fortune  likes  fresh  blood:  once  you  get  used  to 
her  she  leaves  you  alone.  You  see  the  manner  of 
man  I  now  am  —  a  seasoned  philosopher  —  a 
man  who  takes  life  as  it  comes  —  a  man  who 
never  meets  trouble  halfway  —  a  man  unbur- 
dened by  the  sentimental  craving,  so  prevalent 
in  this  hysterical  age,  to  confer  unsolicited  bene- 
fits upon  his  fellows  —  a  man  unhampered  at  the 
same  time  by  narrow  scruples  about  accepting, 
in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered,  the  occasional 
assistance  of  his  friends.  In  short,  a  sane,  dispas- 
sionate, evenly  balanced  man  of  the  world,  in- 
sured against  sudden  upheaval  by  a  sense  of  pro- 
portion, and  against  depression  of  spirits  by  a 
sense  of  humour." 


330  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

Mr.  Welwyn  paused  again,  and  there  was  an- 
other silence,  punctuated  by  the  rattle  of  traffic 
outside.  Presently  he  continued,  in  yet  an- 
other mood :  — 

"Sometimes  my  point  of  view  changes.  I  look 
at  myself,  and  what  do  I  see?  An  elderly, 
shabby-genteel  inhabitant  of  Bloomsbury,  with 
not  a  single  memory  of  the  past  to  fall  back  on, 
save  that  of  a  youth  utterly  wasted  —  a  youth 
hung  about  with  golden  opportunities,  each 
and  all  successively  disregarded  from  a  fatuous, 
childish  belief  that  the  supply  was  inexhaustible 
—  and  with  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  a 
further  period  of  dependence  upon  a  wife  who 
is  as  much  my  moral  superior  as  she  is  my  social 
inferior.  An  earner  of  casual  guineas  —  a  picker- 
up  of  stray  newspapers  —  the  recipient  of  re- 
freshment respectfully  proffered  by  unintellec- 
tual  but  infinitely  more  worthy  associates  in 
bar  parlours.  A  loafer  —  a  waster  —  a  failure! 
That,  Mr.  Mainwaring,  is  the  father  of  the  girl 
whom  you  desire  to  marry.  ...  I  am  not  what 
you  would  call  religious,  but  sometimes  the  im- 
pulse comes  upon  me  —  and  I  obey  it  forthwith  — • 
to  go  down  upon  my  knees  and  thank  God  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  my  children  take 
after  their  mother." 

The  broken  scholar  dropped  wearily  into  his 
chair. 


THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN       331 

"Youth!  Youth!  Youth!  Youth!"  he  mur- 
mured. "Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth!" 

His  head  slipped  down  between  his  hands. 

Dicky,  curiously  stirred,  attempted  to  say 
some  word,  but  nothing  came. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Welwyn  sprang  to  his  feet.  The 
cloud  had  lifted,  or  else  pride  had  come  to  the 
rescue.  It  is  often  difficult  to  tell  which. 

"Dick,"  he  said, " I  perceive  from  your  attitude 
that  you  are  about  to  be  sympathetic.  Don't! 
Sympathy  is  wasted  on  me.  In  five  minutes  from 
now  this  mood  will  have  passed.  In  half  an  hour 
I  shall  be  as  happy  as  an  ostrich  with  its  head  in 
the  sand.  That  has  been  my  lifelong  posture,  and 
a  very  comfortable  posture,  too,  once  you  get 
used  to  it!  It  is  only  when  one  comes  up  to 
breathe  that  things  hurt  a  bit.  Now,  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  I  must  go  out.  I  have  had  a  letter  this 
morning  offering  me  some  exceedingly  welcome 
and  possibly  permanent  work.  I  do  not  know 
where  Tilly  is,  but  she  should  be  in  presently.  I 
do  not  ask  what  your  business  with  her  may  be. 
I  have  no  right  —  and  no  need." 

The  two  men  shook  hands. 

"Good-bye,  dear  Dick,"  said  Mr.  Welwyn, 
"and  thank  you  for  the  very  unobtrusive  manner 
in  which  you  have  helped  a  lame  dog  over  a  stile." 

Next  moment  the  door  closed,  and  he  was 
gone. 


332  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"We  are  queer  mixtures,"  mused  philosophic 
Dicky.  ...  "I  wonder  where  Tilly  is!" 

•  ••••*••• 

Five  minutes  later  the  drawing-room  door 
opened  again,  this  time  to  admit  little  'Melia. 
She  paused  and  drew  back,  at  the  spectacle  of  her 
late  ally  sprawling  at  ease  before  the  scanty  fire. 

"Hallo,  'Melia!"  said  Dicky  cheerfully. 

"Hallo!"  replied  Amelia  cautiously.  "Have 
you  come  to  —  see  mother?" 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you,"  said  Dicky.  He  re- 
garded the  little  girl  curiously.  "I  say,  'Melia, 
have  I  offended  you  in  any  way?" 

"You?  Me?  No!"  replied  Amelia,  in  wide- 
eyed  surprise.  "Why?" 

Dicky  smiled  coyly. 

"There  used  to  be  a  pleasant  little  form  of  greet- 
ing," he  intimated. 

"You  still  want  to?"  cried  'Melia  in  a  flutter. 

"Please." 

Next  moment  Miss  Amelia  Welwyn,  feeling 
that  the  bottom  had  not  dropped  out  of  the  uni- 
verse after  all,  was  giving  Mr.  Richard  Main- 
waring  a  kiss. 

"Where  is  Tilly  this  morning?"  asked  Dicky 
carelessly. 

" Gone  out,"  said  Amelia  —  "to  look  for  a  job. 
She  gave  up  the  other  one  when  she  got  —  en- 
gaged." 


THE  REAL  MR.  WELWYN       333 

"I  see,"  said  Dicky,  nodding  his  head. 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  to  break  it  off," 
continued  the  experienced  Amelia.  "They  all 
said  last  night  you  were  bound  to  do  it,  after 
what  had  happened." 

"That  sort  of  thing,"  explained  Dicky,  "is 
done  for  one  by  one's  parents,  I  believe.  I  am 
rather  young,  you  see,"  he  added  apologetically. 

He  rose,  gently  displacing  his  small  admirer 
from  his  knee. 

"Now  I  must  be  off,"  he  said.  "Give  this  to 
Tilly  for  me,  will  you?" 

Amelia  was  still  twisting  and  turning  the  letter 
in  her  hands  when  the  bang  of  the  front  door 
signalled  Dicky's  departure. 

"If  his  parents  are  going  to  break  it  off  for 
him,"  said  Amelia  to  herself  in  a  puzzled  whisper, 
"what  does  he  want  to  go  writing  to  her  for?" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  GARDEN  PLOT  IN  RUSSELL  SQUARE 

OUTSIDE,  leaning  contentedly  against  the  rail- 
ings of  the  garden  opposite  to  the  Maison  Wel- 
wyn,  and  enjoying  the  spring  sunshine,  Dicky 
encountered  the  Carmyles. 

"Hallo,  you  two!"  he  said.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?  Liable  to  get  run  in  for  loitering, 
hanging  about  like  this." 

"We  have  followed  you,  Dicky,"  began  Connie 
rapidly,  "  to  tell  you  that  your  mother  is  coming 
up  to  town,  and  —  " 

"Mother  — already?" 

Connie  nodded. 

"Fourth  speed  in,"  confirmed  Mr.  Carmyle. 
"Live  axle  —  direct  drive  —  open  exhaust." 

"Trailing  your  father  behind  her,"  added  Con- 
nie. "I  understand  you  had  an  interview  with 
them  this  morning." 

The  Freak  gave  a  wry  smile. 

"I  did,"  he  said.  "It  was  rather  a  heated  inter- 
view, I'm  afraid.  Words  passed.  But  we  can't 
stand  here  dodging  taxis.  Come  into  the  garden, 
Maud!" 

"Don't  we  require  a  key?"  enquired  the  re- 


A   GARDEN  PLOT  335 

christened  Connie,  surveying  the  iron  railings 
which  enclosed  the  Bloomsbury  Eden. 

"I  have  one,"  said  Dicky.  "It  belongs  to  the 
Welwyns.  Tilly  and  I  used  to  use  it  a  good  deal," 
he  explained,  in  a  subdued  voice. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  dingy  but  romantic 
pleasance  which  had  sheltered  himself  and  his 
beloved,  and  the  trio  sat  down  upon  a  damp  seat. 
Mrs.  Carmyle,  looking  rather  like  one  of  the 
sparrows  which  hopped  inquisitively  about  her 
daintily  shod  feet,  established  herself  between 
her  two  large  companions.  Her  husband,  who 
was  a  creature  of  homely  instincts,  hung  his  silk 
hat  upon  an  adjacent  bough  with  a  sigh  of  con- 
tent, and  began  to  fill  a  large  briar  pipe.  Dicky, 
a  prey  to  melancholy,  kicked  the  grass  with  his 
heels. 

"Where  is  Tilly  this  morning?"  asked  Connie. 

"  Gone  out  —  to  look  for  a  job ! "  replied  Dicky 
through  his  clenched  teeth.  "Just  as  if  a  snug 
home  and  the  life  of  a  lady  were  things  she  had 
never  dreamed  of!"  His  eyes  blazed.  "Great 
Heavens,  Connie  —  the  pluck  of  the  child!  What 
a  brute  it  makes  me  feel!" 

Connie  patted  his  hand  maternally,  but  said 
nothing.  There  was  nothing  to  say.  Presently 
Dicky  continued,  in  a  more  even  voice:  — 

"So  my  mother  is  coming  up  this  morning  — • 
to  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot  —  eh?" 


336  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"'To  make  a  direct  appeal  to  Miss  Welwyn's 
better  nature,'  was  what  she  said,"  replied  Mrs. 
Carmyle  cautiously. 

"I  am  afraid  there  will  be  a  bit  of  a  scrap," 
said  Dicky  thoughtfully.  "My  dear  mother's 
normal  attitude  towards  her  fellow-creatures  is 
that  of  a  righteous  person  compelled  to  travel 
third-class  with  a  first-class  ticket;  but  when  she 
goes  on  the  warpath  into  the  bargain  —  well, 
that  is  where  I  take  cover." 

"She'll  roll  the  Welwyns  out  flat,"  observed 
Mr.  Carmyle,  with  that  conviction  which  only 
painful  experience  can  instill. 

"She  won't  roll  Tilly  out  flat,"  said  Dicky. 

"Nor  Mrs.  Welwyn  either,"  added  Connie; 
"so  kindly  refrain  from  putting  in  your  oar,  Bill! 
We  are  n't  all  terrified  of  Lady  Adela.  Cowardy, 
cowardy,  cus —  ' 

Mr.  Carmyle,  flushing  with  shame,  abruptly 
invited  his  small  oppressor  to  switch  off;  and 
Dicky  proceeded  to  review  the  situation. 

"I  don't  think  my  dear  parent  will  get  much 
change  out  of  any  of  the  Welwyns,"  he  said. 
"They  are  a  fairly  competent  lot.  Moreover, 
they  have  burned  their  boats  and  have  nothing 
to  lose;  so  I  expect  there  will  be  some  very  pretty 
work.  My  lady  mother  is  an  undoubted  champion 
in  her  class,  I  admit,  but  she  has  got  a  bit  out  of 
condition  lately.  Managing  Dad  and  harrying 


A   GARDEN  PLOT  337 

the  County  are  n't  really  sufficient  to  keep  a 
woman  of  her  fighting-weight  up  to  the  mark. 
Still,  I  don't  particularly  want  her  big  guns  let 
loose  on  Tilly." 

"Tilly  has  gone  out  for  the  day,  I  suppose?" 
said  Connie. 

"So  I  was  told.  But  how  did  you  guess?" 

Connie  Carmyle  flapped  her  small  hands  de- 
spairingly. 

"Oh,  what  creatures!"  she  cried,  apparently 
apostrophising  the  male  sex  in  general.  "Can't 
you  understand  anything  or  anybody  —  not 
even  the  girl  you  love?  Of  course,  she  is  out  for 
the  day;  and  if  you  go  there  to-morrow  she  will 
be  out  for  the  day,  too!" 

"Why?"  asked  Dicky  blankly. 

:*Yes  —  why?"  echoed  that  sympathetic  but 
obtuse  Philistine,  Bill  Carmyle. 

His  wife  turned  upon  him  like  lightning. 

"Bill,"  she  said,  "keep  perfectly  quiet,  or  I 
shall  send  you  off  to  meet  Lady  Adela's  train  at 
Waterloo !  I  want  to  talk  to  Dicky.  Now,  Dicky, 
listen  to  me.  That  little  girl"  —  Connie's  eyes 
grew  suddenly  tender,  for  she  loved  her  sex  — 
"cares  for  you,  old  man  —  quite  a  lot.  Quite 
enough,  in  fact,  to  draw  back  if  she  thinks  she  is 
going  to  stand  in  your  way  during  life.  That 
pathetic  little  fraud  of  a  tea-party  yesterday  has 
set  her  thinking.  She  has  suddenly  realised  that 


338          ;HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

although  she  might  get  you  by  false  pretences,  she 
could  not  keep  you  by  false  pretences  —  nor  want 
to.  She  has  also  realised  that  her  Family  are  im- 
possible. That  means  that  she  will  have  to  give 
up  either  you  or  the  Family.  And  you  are  the 
one  she  will  give  up,  Dicky.  She  loves  you  too 
much  to  pull  you  down  to  their  level.  She  won't 
give  that  as  her  reason  —  women  are  built  like 
that  —  but  she  will  give  you  up,  all  the  same." 

The  usually  placid  Dicky  had  grown  exces- 
sively agitated  during  this  homily. 

"Connie,"  he  burst  out,  "for  goodness'  sake 
don't  try  to  frighten  me  like  that!  Tilly's  Family 
are  not  impossible.  They  're  only  a  bit  improba- 
ble. And  besides,  talking  of  impossible  families, 
look  at  mine !  Do  you  know  who  my  grandfather 
was?  He  was  a  Lancashire  cotton  operative  —  a 
hand  in  a  mill.  He  invented  something  —  a  shut- 
tle, or  a  bobbin,  or  something  of  that  kind  —  and 
made  a  fortune  out  of  it.  He  ultimately  died 
worth  a  hundred  thousand  pounds;  but  to  the 
end  of  his  days  he  dined  without  his  coat,  and,  if 
he  could  possibly  escape  detection,  without  his 
collar  either.  I  never  saw  him,  but  my  Dad  says 
he  was  a  dear  old  chap,  and  I  can  quite  believe  it. 
As  a  father-in-law  he  was  a  sore  trial  to  my  poor 
mother,  whose  ancestors  had  worn  their  collars 
at  meals  for  quite  a  considerable  period ;  but  the 
hundred  thousand  overcame  her  susceptibilities 


A  GARDEN  PLOT  339 

in  the  end,  and  she  and  Dad  have  lived  happily 
ever  since." 

Dicky  rose  restlessly  to  his  feet,  and  continued 
his  address  standing. 

"Now  I  think,"  he  said,  "that  we  can  set  my 
grandfather,  cotton  operative,  against  the  late 
lamented  Banks,  plumber  and  gas-fitter.  Banks, 
of  course,  was  the  bigger  man  socially  —  you 
know  how  plumbers  get  asked  simply  everywhere 
—  but  Mainwaring's  son  married  the  daughter  of 
an  Earl;  so  we  will  call  them  quits.  Anyway, 
Tilly  is  quite  as  good  as  I  am  —  miles  better,  in 
fact." 

"Dear  Dicky!"  murmured  Connie  approv- 
ingly. Here  was  a  lover  of  the  right  metal. 

"What  about  friend  Perce?"  enquired  a  gruff 
voice. 

It  was  a  telling  question.  If  Dicky  could  clothe 
such  an  uncompromising  fact  as  Percy  Welwyn 
in  a  garment  of  romance,  he  was  capable  of  mak- 
ing a  success  of  any  marriage.  Mr.  Carmyle 
waited  grimly  for  his  answer. 

"Ah  — Percy!"  replied  Dicky  thoughtfully. 
"Yes,  Tiny,  old  soul,  that's  a  sound  question. 
Well,  Percy  is  n't  exactly  polished  —  in  fact,  one 
might  almost  be  forgiven  for  describing  him  as  a 
holy  terror  — " 

"He  wants  losing,"  said  Carmyle  with  convic- 
tion. 


340  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"But  listen,"  pursued  Dicky.  "Percy  may  be 
all  we  say,  but  he  cheerfully  hands  over  half  his 
weekly  screw,  which  is  n't  a  fabulous  one,  to  the 
common  fund  of  the  Family.  It  is  not  every 
young  man  who  would  do  that,  especially  such  a 
social  success  as  Percy.  Oh,  yes,  Connie,  he  is  a 
social  success;  so  don't  look  incredulous.  I  tell 
you  he  is  a  regular  Apollo  at  shilling  hops.  He 
took  me  to  one  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"Where?"  asked  Connie. 

"Somewhere  near  Kennington  Oval.  The  girls 
simply  swarmed  over  him.  But  he  is  not  in  the 
least  stuck  up  about  it;  and  —  well,  he  is  kind  to 
Tilly.  I  am,  therefore,"  concluded  Dicky  stoutly, 
"an  upholder  of  Percy." 

Mr.  Carmyle,  encouraged  by  the  silence  of  his 
wife,  felt  emboldened  to  continue  his  cross- 
examination. 

"What  about  mother-in-law?"  he  queried. 

It  was  a  foolish  question. 

"She  is  a  woman  in  a  thousand,"  said  Dicky 
promptly,  and  Mrs.  Carmyle,  with  a  withering 
side-glance  at  her  unfortunate  lord,  nodded  her 
head  vigorously  in  affirmation. 

"Mrs.  Welwyn  is  not  what  we  call  a  lady," 
proceeded  Dicky,  "but  she  is  the  right  stuff  all 
through.  I  admit  that  she  has  not  been  quite 
successful  in  her  efforts  to  polish  Percy,  but  look 
at  the  others!  The  little  sister,  'Melia,  is  a  dear. 


A   GARDEN  PLOT  341 

The  twins  are  rippers.  Old  Welwyn  —  well,  he 's 
a  rotter,  but  he's  a  gentlemanly  rotter;  which 
pretty  well  describes  the  majority  of  my  friends, 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it.  And  he  is  no  hypo- 
crite: he  is  quite  frank  about  his  weaknesses. 
Now,  to  sum  up.  On  her  father's  side  Tilly  is  a 
lady;  on  her  mother's  side  she  is  a  brick.  That's 
a  pretty  good  combination.  Anyhow,  it's  good 
enough  for  me;  and  if  she'll  have  me  I'm  going 
to  marry  her." 

Dicky  concluded  the  unburdening  of  his  soul 
with  a  shout  and  a  wave  of  his  hat,  and  all  the 
sparrows  flew  away. 

"Now,"  said  Connie,  patting  the  seat  in  a 
soothing  fashion,  "sit  down  and  tell  me  how  you 
are  going  to  do  it." 

Dicky  resumed  his  place  beside  her  and  said 
meekly :  — 

"I'm  looking  to  you  to  tell  me  that,  Connie." 

Apparently  he  had  made  the  remark  that  was 
expected  of  him,  for  Connie  immediately  assumed 
a  little  air  of  profound  wisdom,  and  her  unregen- 
erate  husband  emitted  an  unseemly  gurgle. 

;<Your  first  difficulty,  of  course,"  she  said  to 
Dicky,  ignoring  her  wretched  and  ill-controlled 
spouse,  "will  be  to  see  Tilly.  After  the  humiliation 
of  yesterday  her  only  instinct  will  be  to  hide  her- 
self. She  will  be  not-at-home  to  you  every  time 
you  call;  and  of  course,  it  is  n't  fair  that  you 


342  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

should  hang  about  in  the  hopes  of  catching  her 
outside." 

"No,"  agreed  Dicky.   "Not  the  game." 

"You  have  written  to  her,  I  suppose?"  said 
Connie. 

"Yes.  Left  a  note  this  morning,"  replied 
Dicky,  brightening  up. 

"Well,  of  course,  that  is  no  use.  It  will  make 
her  happier,  poor  little  soul,  but  it  won't  change 
her  decision.  Letters  never  do.  You've  simply 
got  to  see  her,  Dicky !  Bill,  run  away  for  a  minute, 
there 's  a  dear.  Go  and  think  about  a  cantilever, 
or  something,  over  there." 

Mr.  Carmyle,  puffing  smoke,  obediently  with- 
drew to  the  other  side  of  a  clump  of  sooty  rhodo- 
dendrons. Connie  turned  eagerly  to  Dicky.  Her 
face  was  flushed  and  eager,  like  a  child's. 

"Dicky,"  she  whispered  earnestly,  "see  her! 
See  her!  See  her  alone!  Take  her  in  your  arms 
and  tell  her  that  you  will  never,  never,  never  let 
her  go!  She  will  struggle  and  try  to  break  away; 
but  hold  on.  Hold  on  tight!  Go  on  telling  her 
that  you  love  her  and  will  never  leave  her.  When 
she  sees  that  you  mean  it,  she  will  give  in.  I 
know.  I'm  a  woman,  and  I  know!"  Connie 
squeezed  Dicky's  arm  violently.  "I  know!"  she 
repeated.  .  .  .  "You  can  come  back  now,  Bill 
dear." 

"  Nice  goings-on,  I  don't  think,"  observed  Mr. 


A  GARDEN  PLOT  343 

Carmyle  severely,  reappearing  round  the  rhodo- 
dendron. "Shouting  all  over  the  garden  — 
what?" 

But  the  two  conspirators,  still  in  the  clouds 
together,  took  no  notice  of  him.  Instead,  Connie 
rose  to  her  feet  and  began  to  walk  towards  the 
nearest  gate.  The  two  men  followed. 

"Connie,  how  am  I  going  to  do  it?"  asked 
Dicky  deferentially. 

"I  have  a  plan,"  replied  Connie,  with  porten- 
tous solemnity.  She  was  launched  on  an  enter- 
prise after  her  own  heart.  "Listen!  Have  you  a 
portmanteau?  " 

"Yes,  at  my  rooms." 

"Well,  go  there  and  pack  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Dicky  in  a  dazed  voice. 

Mrs.  Carmyle  replied  by  quoting  a  famous  and 
oracular  phrase  which  had  lately  fallen  from  the 
lips  of  a  prominent  statesman,  and  the  party 
reached  the  railings. 

"  Hallo,  there 's  a  taxi  at  the  Welwyns*  door," 
said  Carmyle.  "I  wonder  —  oh,  Lord!" 

He  fell  hastily  to  the  rear,  his  knees  knocking 
together.  Two  figures  were  ascending  the  steps 
of  the  house.  One  was  majestic  and  purposeful; 
the  other  small  and  reluctant.  The  front  door 
opened  and  closed  upon  them. 

"My  mother  —  already !"  exclaimed  Dicky  in 
dismay. 


344  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

That  burned  child,  William  Carmyle,  broke 
into  a  gentle  perspiration. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Connie  reassuringly.  "She 
was  bound  to  come.  She  can't  do  any  harm." 

"Supposing  she  gets  Tilly  to  agree  never  to 
see  me  again?"  said  Dicky  feverishly.  "Suppos- 
ing she  insults  her  with  money?"  He  ground 
his  teeth,  and  Carmyle  groaned  sympathetically. 

Connie  patted  his  arm  soothingly. 

"The  last  word  is  the  only  thing  that  matters 
in  this  case,"  she  said  with  great  confidence; 
"and  you  are  going  to  have  that,  Dicky,  my 
friend.  Now,  run  away  and  pack  your  portman- 
teau. Then  come  and  lunch  with  us  at  Prince's. 
I  must  fly.  I  have  an  appointment  with  a  gentle- 
man at  Russell  Square  Tube  Station  at  twelve- 
thirty.  It  is  after  that  now."  „ 

Dicky  glanced  at  Bill  Carmyle  for  an  explana- 
tion of  this  mysterious  assignation,  but  that  gen- 
tleman merely  shook  his  head  in  a  bewildered 
fashion. 

"Don't  ask  me,  old  man,"  he  said. 

"Who  is  the  gentleman,  Connie?"  Dicky  en- 
quired. 

"An  admirer  of  mine,"  replied  Mrs.  Carmyle, 
with  a  gratified  smile.  "I  met  him  in  the  train 
this  morning." 

" For  the  first  time?" 

"  No  —  second.  When  I  saw  him  I  had  an  idea, 


A   GARDEN  PLOT  345 

so  we  arranged  to  meet  again  at  twelve-thirty. 
He  has  another  engagement,  but  he  said  it  did  n't 
matter  when  I  asked  him.  After  he  has  done 
what  I  want,  he  is  coming  to  lunch,  too.  Now 
run  and  pack.  Au  revoir!" 

Revelling  in  every  turn  of  the  highly  compli- 
cated plot  which  she  was  weaving,  little  Mrs. 
Carmyle,  followed  by  her  inarticulate  but  inflated 
husband,  pattered  swiftly  away  round  the  cor- 
ner—  and  incidentally  out  of  this  narrative  — 
turning  to  wave  a  reassuring  hand  to  her  client 
before  disappearing. 

The  Freak,  puzzled  but  confident,  went  home 
to  pack  his  portmanteau. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

PURELY   COMMERCIAL 


"WELL,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn,  taking  off  her 
apron,  "the  beds  are  done,  anyway.  One  less  to 
make,"  she  added  philosophically,  "now  that 
Pumpherston  has  hopped  it.  That's  something." 

"We  could  do  with  the  rent  of  his  room  for  all 
that,  Mother,"  commented  practical  Amelia. 

"That's  true,  dearie,"  sighed  Mrs.  Welwyn. 
"Well,  perhaps  we  shall  get  another  lodger. 
Where's  your  father,  by  the  way?" 

"He  went  out  half  an  hour  ago.  I  expect  he's 
at  the  Museum." 

"Did  Mr.  Dick  see  him?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"And  Mr.  Dick  said  he  did  n't  want  to  see 
me?  "  Mrs.  Welwyn  spoke  rather  wistfully. 

"That  was  what  he  said,"  admitted  'Melia  in  a 
respectful  tone. 

"I  don't  suppose  he's  very  anxious  to  see  any 
of  us  much,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  candidly.  "We 
must  just  get  the  idea  out  of  our  heads,  that's 
all.  Forget  it!  Then,  there's  that  broker's 
insect.  We  are  going  to  get  him  paid  off  double- 
quick,  or  I  'm  a  Dutchman.  I  don't  know  how 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL  347 

it's  going  to  be  done.  Still,  we  have  got  round 
worse  corners  than  this,  have  n't  we,  duckie?" 

"Yes,  Mother,"  said  Amelia  bravely. 

Martha  Welwyn  suddenly  flung  her  arms  round 
her  little  daughter. 

"My  precious,"  she  whispered  impulsively,  "I 
would  n't  mind  if  it  was  n't  for  you  children." 
Her  voice  broke.  " God  pity  women!" 

"Mother,  Mother!"  cried  little  'Melia  reprov- 
ingly. "That's  not  like  you!"  And  she  hugged 
her  tearful  but  contrite  parent  back  to  cheerful- 
ness again. 

A  door  banged  downstairs,  and  the  two  fell 
apart  guiltily. 

"That's  Tilly,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn.  "We 
must  n't  be  downhearted,  or  she  '11  scold  us. 
Bustle  about!" 

With  great  vigour  and  presence  of  mind  this 
excellent  woman  snatched  the  cloth  off  the  table 
and  shook  it  severely.  Amelia,  having  hastily 
removed  a  tear  from  her  mother's  cheek  with  a 
duster,  opened  the  piano  and  began  to  wipe  down 
the  keys,  to  the  accompaniment  of  an  inharmo- 
nious chromatic  scale. 

The  door  flew  open  and  Tilly  marched  in, 
humming  a  cheerful  air. 

"Such  luck,  Mother!"  she  cried. 

For  a  moment  Martha  Welwyn  was  deceived. 
She  whirled  round  excitedly. 


348  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"What  do  you  mean,  dearie?"  she  exclaimed. 

"I've  got  a  berth  —  with  Madame  Amelie  — 
old  Mrs.  Crump,  you  know  —  in  Earl's  Court 
Road.  One  of  her  girls  is  leaving  — " 

"Got  the  sack?"  enquired  Mrs.  Welwyn, 
rearranging  the  tablecloth. 

"No.  She's  only" — Tilly's  voice  quavered 
ever  so  slightly  —  "going  to  be  married.  I've 
got  her  place,  and  I  'm  once  more  an  independent 
lady." 

"That's  capital  news,  Tilly,"  said  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn heartily.  At  any  rate,  her  daughter  would 
have  something  to  occupy  her  mind. 

"Now  the  next  thing  to  do,"  proceeded  Tilly 
with  great  animation,  "is  to  get  rid  of  the  bro- 
ker's man.  We  ought  to  be  able  to  raise  the 
money  all  right.  I'm  at  work  again.  Dad  has 
had  an  offer  of  newspaper  articles;  and  if  only  we 
can  get  Mr.  Pumpherston's  room  let  — " 

"The  broker's  man  has  gone,  Sis,"  said  Amelia. 

"Gone?"  cried  Tilly  and  Mrs.  Welwyn  in  a 
breath. 

"Well,  gone  out,  anyhow.  I  saw  him  shuffling 
across  the  Square  half  an  hour  ago." 

"My  lord  will  find  the  chain  up  when  he  comes 
back,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn  grimly. 

"Still,  we  must  find  the  money,"  persisted 
Tilly.  "We  have  never  been  in  debt  yet,  and  we 
are  never  going  to  be."  Her  slight  figure  stiffened 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL  349 

proudly.  "Independence!  That 's  the  only  thing 
worth  having  in  this  world.  Be  independent! 
Owe  nothing  to  nobody!" 

Certainly,  whether  she  derived  it  from  her 
father's  ancestry  or  her  mother's  solid  worth, 
Tilly  Welwyn  was  composed  of  good  fibre.  With 
flushed  cheeks  and  unnaturally  bright  eyes  she 
turned  to  the  mirror  over  the  drawing-room  man- 
telpiece and  began  to  take  off  her  hat. 

"It's  a  mystery  to  me,"  ruminated  the  puz- 
zled Mrs.  Welwyn,  "  why  that  creature  went  out. 
He  must  have  known  we  would  n't  let  him  in, 
again." 

"Perhaps  Dicky  kicked  him  out,"  suggested 
that  small  hero-worshipper,  Amelia,  with  relish. 

Tilly  turned  sharply. 

"Who?"  she  asked.  A  hatpin  tinkled  into  the 
fender. 

Little  'Melia  bit  her  lip,  and  turned  scarlet. 

"Mr.  Dick,  dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn,  com- 
ing to  the  rescue.  "He  looked  in  this  morning." 

"What  for?"  asked  Tilly,  groping  for  the  hat- 
pin. 

"I  don't  know.  I  did  n't  see  him,"  admitted 
her  mother  reluctantly. 

"  I  do,"  said  'Melia,  having  decided  to  get  things 
over  at  once.  "He  left  a  letter  for  you,  Sis." 

Tilly  rose  to  her  feet  again,  keeping  her  back 
to  her  audience. 


350  HAPPY-rGO-LUCKY 

"Where  is  it?"  she  enquired  unsteadily. 

"Here,"  said  Amelia,  with  a  hand  in  the  pocket 
of  her  pinafore. 

"Put  it  on  the  table,"  said  Tilly,  standing  on 
tiptoe  while  she  patted  her  brown  hair  into  posi- 
tion before  the  glass.  "  I  '11  read  it  presently." 

"There's  the  front-door  bell!"  said  Mrs.  Wel- 
wyn  nervously.  "What  are  we  to  do  if  it's  Rus- 
sell again?" 

"Lock  the  door,"  said  Amelia  promptly. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn 
doubtfully.  "I  wonder  what  the  law  is.  I  wish 
Daddy  was  in."  She  considered,  perplexed. 
"Anyhow,  I'll  go  down  and  see.  Come  with 
me,  'Melia,"  she  added  tactfully. 

The  pair  slipped  out  of  the  room  and  went 
downstairs,  leaving  Tilly  alone  with  her  letter. 

"Supposing  he  rushes  in  the  moment  we  open 
the  door?"  whispered  Amelia,  as  they  consulted 
on  the  mat.  "What  then?" 

"We'll  put  the  chain  up  first,  and  then  open 
the  door  a  crack,"  said  Mrs.  Welwyn. 

This  procedure  was  adopted,  with  the  result 
that  Mr.  Mainwaring  and  Lady  Adela,  waiting 
patiently  upon  the  steps  outside,  were  eventually 
confronted,  after  certain  mysterious  clankings 
had  taken  place  within,  with  a  vision  of  two 
apprehensive  countenances,  one  childish  and  the 
other  middle-aged,  set  one  upon  another  against 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL  351 

a  black  background  in  a  frame  eight  feet  high  and 
three  inches  wide.  It  was  but  a  glimpse,  for  the 
vision  was  hardly  embodied  when  it  faded  from 
view  with  uncanny  suddenness:  and  after  a 
further  fantasia  upon  the  chain,  the  door  was 
tugged  open,  to  reveal  the  shrinking  figures  of 
Mrs.  Welwyn  and  Amelia. 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Welwyn,"  said  Lady 
Adela.  "I  hope  you  will  forgive  this  early  call, 
but  we  are  anxious  to  have  a  talk  with  —  er  — 
Miss  Welwyn." 

Miss  Welwyn's  agitated  parent  ushered  the 
visitors  into  the  dining-room,  bidding  Amelia  run 
upstairs  and  give  warning  of  the  coming  inter- 
view. Resistance  did  not  occur  to  her. 

Amelia  found  her  sister  sitting  motionless  on 
the  edge  of  a  chair,  with  her  arms  upon  the  table. 
In  her  hands  she  held  an  open  letter,  which  she 
was  not  reading.  Her  grey  eyes,  wide  open,  un- 
blinking, were  fixed  on  vacancy.  Her  lips  moved, 
as  if  repeating  some  formula. 

Amelia  touched  her  softly  on  the  arm. 

"Tilly,"  she  whispered,  "they  want  to  see  you." 

Tilly  roused  herself. 

"Who?"  she  asked  dreamily. 

The  question  was  answered  by  the  appearance 
in  the  doorway  of  Lady  Adela,  followed  by  her 
husband.  Tilly  rose,  thrust  the  letter  into  her 
belt,  and  greeted  her  visitors. 


352  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  said  mechanically. 
"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

Lady  Adela,  singling  out  that  well-tried  friend 
of  yesterday,  the  sofa,  sank  down  upon  it.  Mr. 
Mainwaring  remained  standing  behind.  Little 
'Melia,  after  one  sympathetic  glance  in  the  di- 
rection of  her  sister,  gently  closed  the  door  and 
joined  her  mother  on  the  landing  outside. 

"Melia,"  announced  that  harassed  chate- 
laine, "there's  the  front  door  again!  It  must  be 
Stillbottle  this  time.  Supposing  he  meets  them  ?" 

"It  don't  signify  if  he  does,"  replied  her  shrewd 
little  daughter.  "They  have  met  once  already. 
Still,  we  may  as  well  keep  him  out." 

Mother  and  daughter  accordingly  proceeded 
to  a  repetition  of  their  previous  performance 
with  the  door-chain.  As  before,  the  front  door 
was  ultimately  flung  open  with  abject  expres- 
sions of  regret. 

On  the  steps  stood  a  small,  sturdy,  spectacled 
young  clergyman. 

"Oh,  good-morning,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am 
so  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I  have  been  asked  by 
a  friend  to  look  at  your  vacant  room.  Might  I 
do  it  now?  " 

This  was  familiar  ground,  and  Mrs.  Welwyn 
escorted  the  stranger  upstairs  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"My  friend  proposes  to  move  in  almost  imme- 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL          353 

diately,"  explained  Mr.  Rylands,  mounting  at  a 
distressingly  rapid  pace,  "if  they  are  satisfac- 
tory. That  is  —  of  course "  —  he  added  in  a 
panic  —  "I  am  sure  they  will  be  satisfactory. 
But  my  friend  proposes  to  move  in  at  once." 

His  approval  of  the  late  lair  of  the  bellicose 
Pumpherston  when  —  almost  before  —  the  pant- 
ing Mrs.  Welwyn  had  pulled  up  the  blind  and 
unveiled  its  glories,  erred  on  the  side  of  the 
ecstatic.  The  terms  asked  for  the  dingy  but 
speckless  apartment  were  not  excessive,  and  Mr. 
Rylands  agreed  to  them  at  once. 

"May  I  ask,  sir,"  enquired  Mrs.  Welwyn,  as 
they  descended  the  staircase — "did  some  one 
recommend  us?  We  like  to  know  who  our  friends 


are." 


Mr.  Rylands  was  quite  prepared  for  this  ques- 
tion. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  explained  volubly, 
"I  believe  the  gentleman  saw  the  card  in  the 
window;  and  being  particularly  fond  of  Russell 
Square,  and  —  and  its  associations,  and  so  on,  he 
decided  to  come  and  reside  here.  He  will  send  his 
luggage  round  this  afternoon." 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  the  closed  draw- 
ing-room door  and  were  in  the  hall  again. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  gentleman's  name,  sir, 
please?"  asked  Mrs.  Welwyn,  in  obedience  to  a 
reminding  gleam  in  the  eye  of  her  small  daughter, 


354  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

who  was  standing  full  in  the  open  doorway, 
apparently  with  the  intention  of  collaring  Mr. 
Rylands  low.  "  I  suppose  he  can  give  a  reference, 
or  pay  a  week  in  advance?  That's  our  usual  — " 

"Certainly,  by  all  means,"  said  Rylands  hur- 
riedly. Like  most  men,  he  found  it  almost  as 
delicate  and  embarrassing  an  undertaking  to  dis- 
cuss money  matters  with  a  woman  as  to  make 
love  to  her.  "In  point  of  fact,"  he  continued, 
searching  furtively  in  his  pocket,  "my  friend 
would  like  to  pay  a  month  in  advance.  He  is 
anxious  to  make  quite  sure  of  the  rooms,  so  — 
oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!"  (This  to  little  'Melia, 
into  whom  he  had  cannoned  heavily  in  a  mis- 
guided but  characteristic  attempt  to  walk  out 
of  the  house  backwards.)  "  Good-morning ! " 

And  the  Reverend  Godfrey  Rylands,  thrusting 
a  warm  bank-note  into  Mrs.  Welwyn's  palm, 
stumbled  down  the  steps  into  the  Square,  and 
set  off  at  a  most  unclerical  pace  in  the  direction  of 
Piccadilly.  He  was  going  to  lunch,  it  will  be 
remembered,  with  Connie  Carmyle. 

"He  never  left  the  new  lodger's  name,"  recol- 
lected Mrs.  Welwyn,  too  late. 

"No,  but  he  left  a  five-pound  note,"  said  prac- 
tical Amelia. 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL  355 

ii 

Meanwhile,  upstairs,  Lady  Adela  was  conclud- 
ing a  stately  and  well-balanced  harangue.  Of  her 
two  auditors  Mr.  Mainwaring  appeared  to  be 
paying  more  attention.  He  looked  supremely 
unhappy. 

Tilly  sat  bolt  upright  on  a  hard  chair,  staring 
straight  through  Lady  Adela  at  the  opposite  wall. 
Occasionally  her  hand  stole  to  her  belt.  It  is 
regrettable  to  have  to  add,  in  the  interests  of 
strict  veracity,  that  the  greater  part  of  Lady 
Adela's  carefully  reasoned  and  studiously  moder- 
ate address  was  flowing  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at 
the  other.  Tilly  had  no  clear  idea  that  she  was 
being  spoken  to ;  she  was  only  vaguely  conscious 
that  any  one  was  speaking  at  all.  All  her  thoughts 
were  concentrated  on  the  last  page  of  Dicky's 
letter  —  all  she  had  read  so  far.  She  sat  quite 
still,  occasionally  nodding  intelligently  to  put 
her  visitors  at  their  ease.  Once  or  twice  her  lips 
moved,  as  if  repeating  some  formula. 

"Do  not  imagine,  Miss  Welwyn,"  Lady  Adela 
was  saying,  "that  we  are  in  any  way  angry  or 
resentful  at  what  has  occurred.  We  are  merely 
grieved,  but  at  the  same  time  relieved.  So  far  from 
wishing  you  ill  in  consequence  of  this  attempt 
upon  your  part  to  —  to  better  yourself,  my  hus- 
band and  I  are  here  to  offer  to  do  something  for 


356  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

you.  You  must  not  think  that  we  want  to  be 
unkind  or  harsh.  This  is  a  difficult  and  painful 
interview  for  both  of  us  — " 

"For  all  of  us,  Miss  Welwyn,"  murmured  Mr. 
Mainwaring. 

''  You  appreciate  that  fact,  I  hope,  Miss  Wel- 
wyn," said  Lady  Adela  in  a  slightly  louder  tone; 
for  the  girl  made  no  sign. 

Tilly  nodded  her  head  absently. 

"He  loves  me!  He  loves  me!"  she  murmured 
to  herself .  "He  loves  me  still!" 

Lady  Adela  ploughed  on.  She  was  a  kindly 
woman,  and  in  her  heart  she  felt  sorry  for  Tilly. 
Not  that  this  fact  assisted  her  to  understand 
Tilly's  point  of  view,  or  to  remember  what  Dicky 
had  never  forgotten,  namely,  that  the  girl  before 
her  was  a  lady.  She  laboured,  too,  under  a  griev- 
ous disadvantage.  Deep  feeling  was  to  her  a 
thing  unknown.  She  had  never  thrilled  with 
tremulous  rapture.  The  sighing  of  a  wounded 
spirit  had  no  meaning  for  her.  Her  heart  was  a 
well-regulated  and  rhythmatic  organ,  and  had 
always  beaten  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  what 
its  owner  called  common  sense.  It  had  never 
fluttered  or  stood  still. 

Lady  Adela  had  married  her  husband  because 
he  was  rich  and  she  was  the  youngest  daughter  of 
a  great  but  impoverished  house;  and  after  the 
singular  but  ineradicable  habit  of  her  sex,  she 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL          357 

had  founded  her  entire  conception  of  life  upon 
her  own  experience  of  it.  To  her,  marriage  was  a 
matter  neither  of  romance  nor  affinity.  It  was 
a  contract:  a  sacred  contract,  perhaps,  —  in  her 
own  case  it  had  even  been  fully  choral,  —  but  a 
mere  matter  of  business  for  all  that.  To  her,  her 
son's  ideal  bride  was  a  well-bred  young  woman 
with  the  same  tastes  and  social  circle  as  himself, 
and  possibly  a  little  money  of  her  own.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  her  that  Love  contained  any 
other  elements.  Accordingly  she  ploughed  on; 
trying  to  be  fair;  quite  prepared  to  be  generous. 
She  offered  to  "  advance  "  Tilly  in  life.  She  talked 
vaguely  of  setting  her  up  "in  a  little  business." 
She  remarked  several  times  that  she  was  anxious 
to  do  the  right  thing,  adding  as  in  duty  bound 
that  certain  conditions  would  be  attached  to  any 
arrangement  which  might  be  made,  "the  nature 
of  which  you  can  probably  imagine  for  yourself, 
my  dear."  She  begged  Tilly  to  think  things  over, 
and  assured  her  that  no  reasonable  request  would 
be  refused.  Altogether  Lady  Adela's  was  a  very 
conciliatory  and  well-balanced  proposition.  Had 
it  been  made  by  an  encroaching  railway  company 
to  a  landed  proprietor  in  compensation  for  com- 
pulsory ejection  from  his  property,  or  by  a  re- 
pentant motorist  to  an  irate  henwife,  it  might 
fairly  have  been  regarded  as  a  model  of  justice 
and  equity.  As  a  scheme  for  snatching  an  amiable 


358  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

but  weak-minded  young  man  from  the  clutches 
of  a  designing  harpy,  it  erred  if  anything  on  the 
side  of  generosity.  But  as  a  tactful  attempt  to 
convey  to  a  young  girl  the  information  that  she 
could  never  marry  the  man  she  loved,  it  was  a 
piece  of  gross  brutality.  But  Lady  Adela  did  not 
know  this. 

Fortunately  Tilly  heard  little  or  nothing.  Oc- 
casionally a  stray  sentence  focused  itself  on  her 
mind.  "My  husband  and  I  communicated  our 
views  to  our  son  this  morning,"  was  one.  "Im- 
part our  decision  ourselves  .  .  .  avoid  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  painful  interview  .  .  .  unnecessary 
correspondence,"  and  the  like  —  the  disconnected 
phrases  fell  upon  her  ears ;  but  throughout  it  all  the 
girl  sat  with  her  head  in  the  clouds,  fingering  her 
letter  and  hugging  her  secret.  Once  Lady  Adela, 
in  a  flight  of  oratory,  half-rose  from  her  seat. 
Tilly,  with  a  vague  hope  that  the  call  was  over, 
put  out  a  hand,  which  was  ignored. 

But  the  interview  came  to  an  end  at  last;  and 
Lady  Adela,  conscious  of  a  difficult  task  ade- 
quately and  tactfully  performed,  but  secretly 
troubled  by  Tilly's  continuous  apathy,  rose  to 
her  feet.  Tilly  mechanically  stood  up,  too. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Welwyn,"  said  Lady 
Adela,  offering  her  hand.  "  We  have  to  thank  you 
for  a  patient  hearing." 

Tilly  smiled  politely,  shook  hands,  but  said 


PURELY  COMMERCIAL          359 

nothing.  Mr.  Mainwaring,  his  heart  sore  for  the 
girl,  timidly  signalled  to  his  wife  to  leave  her  in 
peace. 

"Do  not  trouble  to  show  us  out,"  said  Lady 
Adela;  and  departed  imposingly  through  the 
door. 

With  a  long  sigh  of  relief  Tilly  dropped  back 
into  her  seat.  Suddenly  she  was  aware  that  she 
was  not  yet  alone.  Mr.  Mainwaring  had  lingered 
in  the  room.  He  came  forward  now,  and  took 
the  girl's  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"My  dear,  my  dear!"  he  said  quickly.  "I 
wish  you  were  my  daughter.  God  give  you  a 
good  husband!" 

There  was  an  ominous  cough  upon  the  landing 
outside;  and  the  old  gentleman,  recalled  to  a 
sense  of  duty,  trotted  obediently  out  of  the  room, 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Tilly  snatched  the  letter  from  her  belt. 

"He  loves  me!"  she  murmured.  "He  loves 
me !  He  loves  me  still ! " 

She  was  not  referring  to  Mr.  Mainwaring 
senior. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   FINAL   FREAK 

TILLY  finished  writing  her  letter,  signed  and 
addressed  it,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

She  had  just  declined  to  marry  Dicky  Main- 
waring. 

"That's  done,  anyhow,"  she  said  to  herself, 
with  the  instinctive  cheerfulness  of  those  who  are 
born  plucky.  "  Now  I  '11  go  out  and  post  it  before 
the  Family  come  home,  and  then  perhaps  a 
little  walk  round  Bloomsbury  will  give  me  an 
appetite  for  tea."  But  as  Tilly  rose  briskly  to 
her  feet  her  eye  fell  upon  the  letter  from  Dicky, 
lying  beside  the  answer  to  it  which  she  had  just 
written.  For  the  tenth  time  she  picked  it  up  and 
re-read  certain  passages. 

/  don't  think  I  ever  loved  you  as  I  did  yesterday 
afternoon.  As  I  watched  you  fighting  that  brave, 
uphill  battle  of  yours  in  the  face  of  the  most  awful 
odds  —  Mother  and  Sylvia  are  awfully  odd,  you 
know  —  /  suddenly  realised  how  utterly  and  en- 
tirely I  had  become  part  of  you  —  or  you  of  me,  if 
you  like.  I  was  on  your  side  in  that  plucky,  pre- 
posterous, transparent  little  conspiracy  from  start 
to  finish,  and  when  the  crash  came  I  think  I  was 
harder  hit  than  anybody.  The  only  complaint  1 


THE  FINAL  FREAK  361 

have  to  make  is  that  you  did  not  take  me  into  your 
confidence.  I  could  have  put  you  up  to  one  or  two 
tips  which  might  have  made  all  the  difference  —  you 
see,  I  have  known  Mother  and  Sylvia  longer  than 
you  have  —  and  we  could  have  enjoyed  the  fruits  of 
victory  together.  Still,  I  forgive  you  for  your  obsti- 
nacy in  trying  to  put  the  enterprise  through  single- 
handed.  It  was  very  characteristic  of  you,  and  any- 
thing that  is  characteristic  of  you  is  naturally  extra 
precious  to  me.  So  don't  imagine  that  yesterday's 
little  interparental  unpleasantness  is  going  to  make 
any  difference  to  you  and  me  —  to  You  and  Me  I 

"To  You  —  and  Me!"  echoed  Tilly  softly. 

.  .  .  You  will  probably  receive  a  call  from  my 
esteemed  parents.  They  mean  well,  but  I  mistrust 
their  judgment.  They  will  probably  intimate  that 
we  must  never  see  one  another  again,  or  something 
of  that  kind.  I  am  afraid  it  is  just  possible  that  my 
dear  old  mother  will  offer  you  compensation,  of  a 
sort.  If  she  does,  try  to  forgive  her.  She  does  not 
understand.  Not  at  present,  that  is.  One  day  she 
will  laugh  at  herself  —  which  will  establish  a 
record  —  and  apologise  to  you  for  having  enter- 
tained the  idea. 

"No,  she  won't!"  observed  Tilly  at  this  point. 

.  .  .  It  seems  ridiculous,  does  n't  it,  that  any  one 
should  seriously  set  out  to  appeal  to  you  to <(  abandon 
your  demands"  upon  me?  As  if  things  were  not 
entirely  the  other  way.  It  is  I  who  am  making  de- 


362  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

mands  upon  you,  dearest.  The  idea  !  To  lecture  you 
as  if  you  were  some  designing  little  adventuress, 
instead  of  the  most  wonderful  worker  of  miracles 
that  ever  lived  —  the  girl  who  made  bricks  without 
straw  —  the  girl  who  made  a  man  of  Dicky  Main- 
waring  I 

.  .  .  So  do  not  be  afraid  with  any  amazement  — 
do  you  know  where  that  quotation  comes  from  ?  — 
at  anything  my  mother  may  say.  She  will  probably 
pile  on  the  agony  a  bit  about  the  various  kinds  of 
trouble  that  await  a  couple  who  marry  out  of  differ- 
ent social  circles,  and  punk  of  that  kind.  She  is  a 
dear  thing,  my  old  mother,  but  very  feminine.  When 
she  wants  to  argue  about  anything  she  always 
begins  by  begging  the  question.  Besides,  our  love  is 
big  enough  to  square  any  circle,  social  or  otherwise. 
So  don't  you  worry,  little  girl.  Leave  things  to  me, 
and  — 

Tilly  read  more  slowly  and  yet  more  slowly,  and 
then  stopped  reading  altogether.  Then  she  rose 
slowly  to  her  feet,  crossed  the  room,  and  stood 
gazing  into  the  fire.  She  did  not  know  what  beg- 
ging the  question  meant,  but  she  had  other  food 
for  reflection.  Connie  Carmyle  was  right.  When 
it  comes  to  a  pinch,  letters  are  useless  things,  and 
being  useless  are,  more  often  than  not,  dangerous. 

On  the  mantelpiece  stood  two  framed  photo- 
graphs —  one  of  Tilly,  the  other  of  Dicky.  The 
original  of  the  first  addressed  the  second. 


THE  FINAL  FREAK  363 

"I  wish  you  had  n't  put  in  that  last  bit,  Dicky 
dear  .  .  .  'Abandon  my  demands9  .  .  .  (A  little 
adventuress. '  .  .  .  That 's  what  I  am,  when  all  is 
said  and  done.  A  little  adventuress,  trying  to 
better  herself!  Lady  Adela  is  right  and  we  were 
wrong.  What  else  could  you  think  of  me,  Dicky, 
once  you  married  me  and  found  me  out  —  a  silly, 
hysterical,  common  little  chit?  .  .  .  There's  your 
letter,  dear.  I  dare  say  I  could  have  got  quite  a 
lot  for  it  in  a  court  of  law;  but  some  adventuresses 
are  n't  up  to  sample.  They  have  no  spirit." 

Dicky's  much-read  epistle  dropped  into  the 
flames,  and  Tilly  turned  with  sudden  briskness 
from  her  lover's  photograph  to  her  own. 

"As  for  you,  Tilly  Welwyn,"  she  observed 
severely,  "just  remember  that  you  are  only  an 
ordinary,  hard-working,  matter-of-fact  little 
London  work-girl.  You  can  put  all  fancy  notions 
about  fairy  princes  and  happy-ever-after  out  of 
your  head.  You  are  getting  a  big  girl  now,  you 
know.  You  must  live  your  life  and  go  your  own 
way;  and  sometimes  —  only  sometimes,  mind!  — 
when  you  are  feeling  downhearted  and  up  against 
it,  I  '11  allow  you  to  let  your  thoughts  go  back  to 
the  best  man  that  ever  walked ;  and  although  you 
may  cry  a  bit,  you  will  thank  God  you  did  not 
spoil  his  life  by  marrying  him. " 

The  doors  leading  onto  the  landing  creaked, 
and  Amelia  peeped  cautiously  in.  Tilly  started 


364  HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 

guiltily.  None  of  us  like  to  be  caught  talking  to 
ourselves.  The  habit  savours  of  exclusiveness  — 
and  other  things. 

"Tilly  dear,"  said  little  'Melia  listlessly,  "the 
new  lodger  has  come  with  his  luggage.  Could  you 
give  him  a  hand  with  it?  Everybody  is  out,  and 
it's  rather  heavy  for  me." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tilly  readily.  "  I  '11  be  down  in 
half  a  minute." 

Amelia  disappeared,  leaving  the  doors  open; 
and  Tilly  hastily  assumed  a  business-like  yet 
hospitable  expression,  suitable  for  the  welcoming 
of  a  second-floor. 

"One  thing  more,  though,  my  girl,"  she  re- 
marked sternly,  releasing  her  features  for  a  mo- 
ment in  order  to  address  her  own  reflection  in  the 
overman  tie  mirror.  "Just  remember  that  this 
will  require  a  real  effort.  It 's  all  very  well  to  feel 
heroic  just  now,  and  talk  about  giving  him  up, 
and  living  your  own  life,  and  so  on;  but  it  won't 
be  easy.  You  will  have  to  put  your  back  into  it. 
Supposing  you  meet  him  in  the  street  one  day? 
What  then?  Can  you  walk  past  him?  You  know 
you  are  as  weak  as  water  where  he  is  concerned. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

Tilly  met  her  own  eyes  in  the  glass,  and  looked 
very  determined.  The  eyes  in  the  glass  responded 
by  filling  with  tears.  Tilly  turned  away  impa- 
tiently from  this  disloyal  exhibition. 


THE  FINAL  FREAK  365 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said.  "If  you  are  as 
weak  as  that  about  it,  you  must  just  make  up 
your  mind  to  avoid  him  —  that 's  all.  There 's 
nothing  else  for  it.  You  must  never  see  him 
again.  .  .  .  And  I  love  him  so ! "  she  added  incon- 
sequently "Poor  Tilly!" 

Little  'Melia  appeared  in  the  doorway  again. 

"He's  bringing  up  his  portmanteau,"  she 
announced  breathlessly,  and  vanished. 

Tilly  turned  towards  the  door.  Laborious  steps 
were  audible  upon  the  staircase,  as  of  one  ascend- 
ing with  a  heavy  load.  Presently  a  man  in  a  great- 
coat passed  the  open  doorway.  On  his  left  shoul- 
der he  carried  a  large  portmanteau,  which  hid  his 
face.  He  passed  up  the  second-floor  staircase  and 
out  of  sight. 

Tilly,  hot  and  cold  by  turns,  stood  shaking  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor. 

There  was  a  bump  overhead.  Then  steps 
descending,  slowly.  He  was  coming  back. 

Tilly  shut  her  eyes  tight  for  a  full  half-minute; 
then  opened  them  and  tottered  forward  with  a 
cry. 

In  the  doorway  —  laughing,  joyous,  open- 
armed  —  stood  The  Freak. 

"You  foolish,  foolish  Tilly!"  he  said;  and 
caught  her  as  she  fell. 

THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S   .  A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


II II  111  I'll 

A    000  1 28  969    3 


